#six months of sighs and suppression

[fannedandflawless]

Mid-Year Memo from Professor Snape

June:

Not inspired.

Not recharged.

Just six months deeper into carrying this entire school on hair and spite.

If it blooms, he’s allergic to it. If it’s cheerful, he hexed it already.

[kjhbsies]

Say It Loud

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James Potter x Slytherin!reader

synopsis: James Potter is in a secret relationship with Y/N, but things spiral when someone mistakes Regulus Black for Y/N’s boyfriend and spreads the rumor around Hogwarts. How far will he go before he can’t take it anymore?

wordcount: 2,624

note: 16+ fluff. last part for this series. kudos to this request.

part I. part II.

James Potter stumbled down the Gryffindor boys' dormitory staircase like he was half-dreaming, half-dazed, and one hundred percent very recently kissed stupid. His tie was hanging through the collar of his shirt loosely, hair even messier than usual, and there was a pink flush creeping into his neck that no amount of cold morning air could erase.

Remus was waiting in the common room with a book tucked under his one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand, looking put-together as usual. His eyes were trained on James before his eyebrow slowly shot up.

James didn't notice. He was too busy suppressing a moonstruck grin, humming something off-key under his breath.

"You look different," Remus deadpanned once James was beside him.

James looked at him. "What?"

"You're glowing."

"I am not," James replied, voice suspiciously high-pitched.

"You're literally blushing."

James coughed and tried to compose himself. Putting on his best neutral face, but it still didn't work. Remus was about to add something when James immediately cut him off.

"Where's Pads and Wormy?"

"Already outside, waiting for your arse to come down."

James rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks deepening to a red hue. "Overslept."

"Hmm," Remus nodded while sipping his coffee. "Overslept or... overloved?"

James almost choked on the air. "What?"

Remus simply smirked. "Nothing. Just wondering why you're walking like your knees don't work."

"Because I almost tripped on the stairs!"

"Riiight," Remus drawled. "Must've been a hell of a staircase."

James grumbled and busied himself by fixing his tie. The two began walking towards their classroom, and James tried not to think about what Remus had said earlier, but he still couldn't stop taking glances at him from time to time.

Remus noticed, and his smirk widened.

James's brows furrowed. "What?"

"You look like a lovesick fool."

"I do not," James muttered, straightening up his posture like it would do something.

"Evans finally said yes to a date?"

"I didn't ask her out."

Remus blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know why everyone keeps assuming that!" James threw his hands in exasperation.

"Maybe because you spent years infiltrating her?"

"So?" James huffed. "Is it unbelievable that I just... stopped?"

"Yeah, Prongs. Very."

"Well, she isn't the reason why."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"So... was it Y/n, then?"

"Yes!"

Silence.

The two stopped dead in their tracks.

James froze as if he had been hit by a full-body Petrificus Totalus. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened and then closed. Opened. And closed it again.

"...Moony."

Remus sighed deeply. "Since when?"

James stammered. "Six— six months ago— how did you—?"

Remus slung an arm over his shoulder, guiding them back to motion. "Did you know your ears go bright red when you're jealous?"

"They do not!"

"And your wand hand? Twitchy. Like it's about to launch a full-scale magical assault every time someone mentions Regulus Black."

James groaned, stopping again from walking. He buried his face against his hands. "I— I proposed it, you know? Keeping it a secret. Thought it would be easier that way. House rivalry and all that. But Moony... I love her."

Remus offered a tight-lipped smile. "You know, Prongs, for what's it worth, I was more surprised that you lasted six months keeping it hidden when we know your mouth is relentless."

James grumbled. "I don't even care that she was a Slytherin. Didn't matter when I met her. Didn't matter when she was in the same house as that slimy, smelly, Snivellus or that platinum-haired Malfoy.. And I know we vowed to make the Slytherins' lives miserable but— she made me realize how stupid that was. And I'm just... scared, mate. Scared of what people will say. Scared she'll be the one getting crap for it. What if Sirius finds out and gives her a thirty-minute dramatic monologue about betrayal?"

"Pads does have a thing for theatricals."

"I just— I just want to tell people, but I don't know how."

Remus turned, offering a warm smile. "You're the bravest person I know, Prongs. The same bloke who challenged seven-year Slytherins to a duel because they said McGonagall played favorites. The one who tried riding a Hippogriff during Care of Magical Creatures class because 'you felt a connection.'"

"That was one time."

"My point still stands. Don't worry about us. You're our mate, and we'll stand by you. Pads will be mad for like... 3 hours. 5 hours max. Then he'll get over it."

James nodded slowly, thinking about it. And the two started walking again.

"Besides, if you don't say something soon, someone will ask her out. Like Regulus. Again."

James immediately frowned.

"I hate that smug little—"

"Then act like a Gryffindor, mate. Stake your claim before someone else does."

Just as James puffed his chest like a man preparing for war, Sirius and Peter came bounding down the hall, both looking disheveled and full of chaotic energy.

“What’s taking you two so long?” Sirius barked.

“You two planned a prank for Snivellus without us?" Peter asked.

“We didn't." Remus calmly grabbed Peter by the collar and started dragging him down the hall. “You’re on a roll today, mate. Let’s save that energy for class.”

“Wait— what? Moony, I can walk!”

James stared after them, then turned back to Sirius with determination burning in his eyes.

“I’m telling her today,” He said.

Sirius blinked. “Telling who what?”

"Her." James ignored him and marched off, heart pounding, tie still a disaster.

Peter nudged James in the ribs for the third time in under five minutes. "She's looking at you again," He hissed, barely masking his grin.

"No, she's not." James quipped, not even looking up from his parchment.

"She is," Peter insisted. "Left corner, three rows down, red hair— ringing any bells?"

"I don't care," James grumbled under his breath.

"She's twirling her hair."

"Maybe it's her habit."

"She's twirling it while looking at you. And she just bit her lip."

James groaned and finally looked up, just in time to catch Lily looking away, a pink hue dusting her cheek.

"Mate. She wants you."

Sirius, who had been fighting sleep next to Remus, yawned and leaned forward to join the conversation.

"Who wants who?"

"Lily," Peter whispered too loudly. "She's looking at Prongs like she wants to tutor him. If you catch my drift."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Please shut up."

"Well, well. Look who's finally getting attention from his lifetime crush." Sirius grinned.

"Was." James corrected immediately. "Was my lifelong crush."

Peter gawked at him. "You're moving on?"

"Moved."

"With who?" Sirius asked, suddenly alert. "Do we know her?"

James coughed. "Focus. Minnie is watching."

But that didn't stop the torture.

Once McGonagall dismissed the class, James immediately stood up, with three boys trailing behind him. Just as they were about to round the corner, Lily immediately showed up.

"Potter," She said, immediately stopping them dead in their tracks. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

He stiffened. But before he could answer, Sirius was dragging Peter and Remus by their collars.

"We'll be waiting there." He said, smiling sweetly.

"Is this about Head duties?" James asked.

"Oh, Merlin, she's talking to him." Peter whispered, elbowing Remus, as they all peek out their heads to look at James and Lily nearby.

"No— no," Lily huffed out a smile while shaking her head softly. "I was just wondering if you're planning to go to Hogsmeade this weekend? You usually go with your friends, but... thought maybe you'd want a change."

James blinked. Wait— what? Was this Lily Evans asking him out? Oh, no. It's too late because he already had a perfect, lovely, incredibly sexy, secret girlfriend who just last night—

"I'm actually... not available this weekend." He said, glancing down his parchment.

"Oh." Lily's face fell. "Got plans?"

James coughed. "Yeah, plans. Private plans. Secret ones. Very private. Very secret."

Peter and Sirius's faces contorted into a confused one as they watched Lily's smile faded. Remus sighed, clearly knowing what was the reason.

Lily blinked, trying to regain her composure. "Well... let me know if anything changes." She said before turning away.

James shrugged before going to where his friends were, and Sirius wasted no time in grabbing the back of his robes and cornering him to the wall.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Sirius asked, throwing his hands in the air.

James blinked. "What?"

"Evans was flirting with you!"

"I... noticed."

"And you turned her down?!"

"Why not?"

"Why—" Sirius closed his eyes and tried to calm himself for a second. "Why not?!"

"Prongs... are you sure you're okay? I mean, that was Evans. The love of your life—!" Peter added.

James frowned deeply. "She's not the love of my life!"

Sirius's mouth opened. Then closed. And opened again.

"Okay, what?" He asked.

James looked at Remus for silent help.

"Prongs here... wants to tell you guys something." Remus walked beside James and patted his shoulder for encouragement.

James sighed deeply. "I've been dating Y/n."

Silence.

More silence.

"Slytherin Y/n?" Sirius clarified.

"Yes."

"Hot, terrifying, definitely has-a-dagger-in-her leg, Y/n?"

“Yes.”

"Intimidating-walks-like-a-queen-and-slays-men-with-her-eyes, Y/n?"

"...Yes."

Sirius looked at him, bewildered. "And you didn't tell me?!"

"I thought you'd be mad!"

"I am mad!" Sirius yelled. "Mad that you pulled a Slytherin goddess and didn't give me any heads up?! What kind of best mate are you?"

"What—"

"You, a certified tosser, bagged someone like her?"

"I am not a tosser!"

"You are a first-class, deluxe tosser with curly hair!"

"I am very hot, thank you very much."

“Hot? HOT? Prongs, you look like a broomstick that rolled through a pile of dung and developed a personality.”

James lunged, and within seconds, he had Sirius in a headlock, aggressively messing up his already disheveled hair.

Peter clapped and smiled widely. "Yeah, get him, Prongs!" He cheered.

“Take it back!” James shouted.

“Never!” Sirius wheezed, struggling against James. “You're a mediocre seven at best!"

“I’m an eight point five! And my mum thinks I’m handsome!”

Remus, who thought this would be a calm conversation, shook his head and left them alone. "I hate my bloody life."

The Great Hall was in its usual evening chaos— floating candles, plates clattering, murmurs and laughs flying in the air. You sat at the Slytherin table, elegantly picking at a piece of corn while Narcissa talked about her love adventures. Both of you two refused to eat without Andromeda, who had been late because she's tutoring a third-year student.

"I've already picked a location," Narcissa gushed. "The Astronomy Tower at sunset. I know it's going to be good. And Lucius said he has a surprise planned. Can you believe that?"

"A surprise? What's he going to do? Part his hair in a different way than usual?"

"Hey!" Narcissa lightly slapped your arm. "You take that back. Lucius is thoughtful, romantic, and regal."

"He's got an emotional depth of a teaspoon." You reminded her.

"Well, at least someone's taking me out on Valentine's Day."

You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're seeing someone, aren't you?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed at you. "I've seen the way you disappear after curfew hours and then go back the next morning with that dazed, post-snogging look. Is it Regulus?"

You choked. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

Narcissa shrugged. "I just assumed because he's your type."

You opened your mouth to say something, but someone caught your line of vision. From across the hall, sitting at the Gryffindor table, was James. James, who had been looking at you with such intensity that it made your stomach flip.

You offered him a smile— a barely noticeable one from the eyes of the masses. But it still made his heart flutter. That small act from you seemed to relax his nerves, the tension from his shoulders lifting off slightly.

At the Gryffindor table, Remus had also noticed it. He gave James a subtle nudge. "Go on, mate. It's your time. You should ask her out now."

James blinked. "Right— right now?"

"Go on, it's almost Valentine's Day. Go full cliche like the man you were."

James chewed on his lips, clearly nervous. He had been doing this for years with the wrong girl, and he should've been used to it. But right now, almost all of his courage was gone, which was shocking because he's James bloody Potter.

"Five o'clock," Peter whispered dramatically. "Baby Black has entered the scene."

"Bloody hell," Sirius's brows furrowed. "He's holding a flower. What the bloody hell is he doing with a flower?"

"Where would he go— ooohh— is he going for Y/n?" Peter asked gleefully, too happy to stir the pot.

James didn't waste a second. He stood up so fast he almost knocked Peter out of the chair.

The entire Great Hall paused, but James didn't care. He walked— practically stormed— towards the Slytherin table.

Time went slow around him, and the background faded into a blur. All he could see was you looking at him with wild, confused eyes and a small plate of corn in your hand.

Be brave, James. He told himself. Be brave.

Once he reached the Slytherin table, he could feel his heart thrumming against his chest, that he almost thought it would burst right there and then. People were staring at him like he was mad— and maybe he was utterly, truly, mad for you. Even the professors craned their necks, and Dumbledore had even paused mid-sip of his tea, clearly entertained.

Narcissa was the first to break the silence.

"Can I help you with something, Potter?" She asked, placing a hand under her chin.

James stammered. "I— I need to talk to your friend."

You blinked. "James— I mean, Potter— what are you doing?"

"The right thing." He said, sighing deeply. He turned to examine the room, whose eyes were placed on him like hawks. He dramatically placed his hand on his chest. "I have something to say and it's very important!"

Everyone fell silent.

"Yes, I'm a Gryffindor. Yes, I don't like most of the Slytherins. Yes, I said I'd rather kiss a Niffler than a snake..." James inhaled deeply. "But life is weird. Love is weirder. And sometimes you fall for someone who threatens to hex your eyebrows and steals your pudding without asking."

You couldn't help a wide grin breaking at your face despite the whispers around you.

James pointed at himself. "So, yes. That's right! I'm a big dork and I listen to emo muggle music..." He turned, tugging you lightly and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "...And I'm dating her."

Chaos erupted.

Regulus stepped forward, flower forgotten. "Potter— what...?"

James shot him a glare. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Regulus blinked. “I—”

“She’s mine.”

“You’re—”

“MINE.”

James wrapped a possessive arm around your waist like he was claiming treasure. Then the two of you walked from the Great Hall despite the loud whispers and eyes around you.

“I think I need a drink,” Sirius muttered.

“Can we all pretend that never happened?” Remus sighed.

Andromeda, who just walked in, cluelessly pointed at the two of you. "What the hell was that?" She asked Narcissa.

In the corridor, you turned to James, pouting. “Love, I really appreciate your whole dramatic, publicly-declared love monologue thing. It was very sweet. But I haven’t eaten yet.”

James grinned, smug. “It’s okay. Moony packed us food in the kitchen.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

“And,” James added, pulling you closer, “Maybe after dinner… we can do what we did last night again? Hmm?”

You laughed genuinely, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Then you kissed him so hard it stole the air from his lungs.

Somewhere in the castle, Sirius Black screamed into a pillow.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @dearmy-diary @kmhbygss @ladycaramelswirl @mao-nuwang @alwayslatetothefandoms @niceskyler @sunflouer04 @donaldsonsgirl @chaevvonders @belle-blue @thegoddessofnothingness @nikt-wazny-y @littlepippilongstocking @spirit-of-a-b1tch

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity - Chapter One

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 22.8k

Sanctity Masterlist

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Hello my loves! For those who do not know me from Trouvaille, this is Dana! I am very pleased and excited to share this brand-new series with you. It has been a longtime desire of mine to write a story with vampires. Sanctity was born from a love of history and a past with yandere stories. I sincerely hope you enjoy this first chapter and the love that was poured into it!

WARNING! There are instances of gore, including cutting. Suicidal language is used, so please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Next Chapter

The bell struck six in the crumbling belltower, two young men in white robes pulling on the rope to swing the massive metal fixture to and fro. The haunting sound sent a murder of crows scattering across the steadily darkening sky when they were startled from their perches on the Sanctuary’s roof. Y/N peered out of the arched window curiously, halting her task of wiping down the glass with an old, weathered rag, distant yearning filling her as she watched the black birds fly away to the greater unknown. 

“Y/N, it’s time to wash up for dinner,” Meredith, a fellow ‘acolyte’ and friend, reminded her, setting aside the wooden broom she was using to sweep the hallway they were working in. 

Suppressing an agitated grunt, Y/N simply nodded, rising from her knees and adjusting the cream linen skirt she was wearing, the hem of it dirtied from skimming the old stone floors all day. Following the blonde girl, the wispy curls on her nape appeared silver in the darkened, wintery hallways, Y/N wondered when the Sanctuary would allow them to light the sconces in the frigid building so the acolytes wouldn’t be numb and stiff by the end of the unforgiving November evenings. Not that the wardens actually cared one way or another if the acolytes were cold, as long as they were alive, blood still running through their veins, resources wouldn’t be wasted on a few paltry fires. 

“You know, electricity exists. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re forced to live like fucking peasants during the Black Plague?” Y/N seethed, Meredith’s posture growing stiff as she nervously looked around. Not a soul was in the hallway with them, so Y/N rolled her eyes at the blonde’s haughty reaction. “Relax, Mere. No one’s around.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Y/N. They’ll punish you,” Meredith whispered, her angelic blue eyes wide with concern. Y/N scoffed, her aching fingers curling into fists as they continued their way to the dining hall. 

“Working all day for nothing is punishment enough. What’s the prize? Becoming a walking transfusion one day?” Y/N, despite her agitation, lowered her voice when Meredith began to look truly frightened. “I’m sorry, Mere. There aren’t any vampires here, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do. They never come on Sanctuary grounds. I wish to continue being your friend, Y/N, but I do not wish to invite punishment onto myself,” Meredith swallowed, looking a touch guilty. “I’ll meet you at the table.”

Y/N sighed, watching the girl spirit away, a flurry of white skirts and matching billowy blouses. After so many years spent in the Sanctuary, Y/N realized she shouldn’t be as bitter as she was, but the winter months brought out the aching in her. 

“Talks like a fuckin’ walking pamphlet,” Y/N muttered, heading straight to the large basins lining the outskirts of the dining hall, cringing at the icy water that came from the taps as she scrubbed at her dirty fingernails.

At the very least, the dining hall was one of the warmest sections of the Sanctuary, thanks to the heat from the kitchens and the singular fire roaring in a brazier placed in the center of the room. The Sanctuary, free of 21st century comforts, was always crusted in ice in the winters and stiflingly hot in the summers. Sniffing the air, Y/N tried not to frown– food from the Sanctuary’s kitchens were never very tasty, even if she was often starving enough to eat a leather boot at the end of a day’s work. 

“What’s tonight’s mystery meat?” Y/N got in line, retrieving a tray for herself, and leaning up to whisper her joke into her other friend Joseph’s ear. Unlike Meredith, the dark haired man snorted, mirth flashing in his eyes. 

“Oh, the usuals. Beef organs or tuna. Paired with lentil slop, shitty kale salad, maybe a sweet potato if we’re lucky. Don’t forget the out-of-season orange and singular square of dark chocolate for dessert, too!” 

This time, Y/N did not hold back her light groan, startling a timid acolyte in front of her and Joseph, the girl dropping her hardened, ‘fortified’ bread roll onto the counter. Both her and Joseph bowing in apology slightly while they contained their snickering, Y/N shuddering when a slimy piece of beef liver was slapped onto her plate by a kitchen acolyte. 

“I can’t take these organs anymore. Why can’t we have a steak? Steak is rich in iron,” Y/N sat beside Joseph at one of the long tables, her ass smarting against the stone bench. Meredith, across from her, eyed her carefully, using her spoon to push mushy lentils around on her plate. 

“You’ve been eating organs for ten years now, squirt, aren’t you fond of them by now?” Joseph teased, prodding at the gory looking organs on his own plate with a fork. 

“For once, I just want a bowl of pasta. I mean, come on, vampires eat the best food in the world, and they don’t even need it to survive. Just pure hedonism,” Y/N continued, peeling the orange that came with her dinner considering everything else on the tray looked absolutely revolting. 

Every meal served to the acolytes in the Sanctuary was required to be chock-full of ingredients with an abundance of iron and Vitamin C, allegedly making their blood more nutritious and appetizing to vampires. So, in order for vampires to eat like kings, mere human acolytes ate like cavemen. 

“You’re especially salty this evening,” Joseph remarked, a flicker of surprise flashing over his face. Meredith had ironically grown quite pale, considering the supposed iron-rich meal she was eating should have had a glow rising to her cheeks. “Make sure none of the wardens walk by while you’re still on your soapbox.”

“You can hear their boots from a mile away, I’ll shut up well before they’re in earshot,” Y/N pinched her nose as she stuffed some lentils down her throat so she wouldn’t have to taste the foul mush. “I’ll stop now, don’t wanna upset you, Mere.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured quietly, her eyes softening. Y/N knew that Meredith understood where she was coming from, but complaining about their situations did nothing to get them out of it, in the end. “When we’re back in our dorm… it’ll be okay.”

Nodding, Y/N’s lower eyelid twitched at the thought of her bed– hard as a rock and no better than a bale of hay to sleep on, but kept her promise and changed the subject promptly. 

“What was your task today, Joey?” 

“Ugh. Joey,” Joseph shivered, nudging Y/N with his elbow. “The usual. Raking dead leaves and preparing the garden for the snow.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Meredith remarked, her gaze turning to the stained-glass windows overlooking a frosty courtyard. 

“Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will get out of here. Be able to stay in a warm building, with wool blankets, fires lit in every room…” Joseph twirled one of his dark curls around an index finger contemplatively, Y/N frowning at the unsaid. The only way that would happen would be if one of them got picked to become a human blood bank at the end of the week. Joseph read her mind. “Tomorrow is the Drawing.”

Drawing day happened monthly. Each acolyte in the Sanctuary was required to report to the infirmary wing and offer up a pint of their blood to be sent out around the area for vampires to “sample”, like some kind of wine tasting that could be delivered to one’s doorstep. Days after the Drawing, there would be a chance that word would be sent from a coven that they were interested in a sample, and the matching acolyte, in consequence, would be delivered to the coven to be a live-in blood donor. 

The Drawing happened for a reason. While vampires held the most power across the globe, it was agreed decades ago, after many conferences held by vampires and human world leaders, that solitary vampires must go through a Sanctuary in order to receive a human to feed on. It was during that time when solitary vampires began to form covens to decrease demand for a human donor, and Sanctuaries were born. It was also that time where vampires roamed rampant, claiming any human on the street to drain dry. The death toll was climbing at an alarming rate, so a compromise was reached: vampires could not “hunt”, only go through a Sanctuary to select a donor, one they’d keep indefinitely.  

Y/N often weighed the pros and cons of being selected for The Drawing: at the Sanctuary, she could keep her blood but spend her days freezing, eating nasty food, and scrubbing the filthy building. If she was taken in by a coven, sure, she’d have luxuries– good food, riches, warm clothes. But she’d be at the mercy of vampires, notoriously vicious and unforgiving creatures. That, and she’d be fed on constantly by the sadistic beings, likely for the rest of her life. 

“That’s why we got extra organs today. Figures,” Y/N shrugged, once again pinching her nose to choke down a sliver of meat. “I’m beat. Gonna head back before the final bell. You can finish my portion, Joey.”

Joseph grimaced at the nickname, but eagerly reached for her tray anyways, Meredith watching Y/N slip from the hall. Delicately dabbing her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin, Meredith sighed. 

“She’s always like this the night before the Drawing,” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic, resigned. “She never got used to it, even after all these years.”

“Can you blame her? She was living under the radar, forging her blood type results most of her life before she was caught. I’d be jaded too,” Joseph pointed out around a mouthful of soggy kale. “You’ve been here your whole life, Mere. Y/N and I knew what it was like before living here. Having freedom.”

“I know that, Joseph,” Meredith, to her credit, had the decency to look chastised. “I never said I do not understand. I suppose since the Sanctuary is all I know, I do not yearn for freedom in quite the same way.”

Joseph collected his and Y/N’s trays, smiling at Meredith wistfully. He often thought that life would be simpler if he began to think like her, but it was difficult to let go of freedoms after they’d been tasted before. He remembered the days where he could wander in untamed forests, on the outskirts of town, where he could pick wild fruit and bask in the summer sun. Joseph recalled Y/N telling him about her life of drifting, hiding– the excitement, the footloose feeling of it all. Smiling at his other friend still, he stood from the stone bench. 

“The freest we’ll be is if we’re chosen after a Drawing. And even then, we’re birds in cages.”

Even though she had pulled two pairs of wool socks on her feet before passing out in bed, Y/N’s toes were icicles when the obnoxious morning bell clanged through the hollow halls. Starting to regret not eating much dinner, Y/N’s stomach was turning uncomfortably as she sat up in bed. The roiling in her gut was not just because she was hungry, but the familiar unease that festered there each morning of a Drawing day. As she watched Meredith, who happened to be her roommate, pull the threadbare curtains back on their barred window dutifully, Y/N sluggishly removed her nightgown and dressed herself in the dreaded white linens she was forced to wear on a daily basis.  

“Hopefully I won’t pass out today,” Y/N joked, knowing that Meredith was usually much more relaxed about complaining when they were in the privacy of their shoebox-sized room. 

“They’ll give you juice if you do. Just keep your eyes closed and focus on your breath,” Meredith gestured to the stool at the foot of her bed, encouraging Y/N to sit.

Humming, she did so, staring at the ceiling as her friend began to braid her hair. Meredith’s careful fingertips raking through her tresses calmed her down enough to stop the acid in her stomach from rising into her mouth. Meredith was singing quietly, a hymn, from the sound of it, and Y/N was thankful for the peaceful start of the day, no matter how cold and nauseous she was. 

“You won’t have to go to the infirmary until after lunch, right?” Y/N attempted to distract herself from the fact that she’d be the very first to get her blood drawn. 

“Mm-hmm. B+ is scheduled for after the midday meal,” Meredith stopped singing, using a scrap of old cream fabric to tie off the braid hanging down Y/N’s back. “So I’ll see you in the dining hall, then I’ll meet you back in the west hallway to finish cleaning anything we didn't yesterday.”

“Thanks, Mere,” Y/N reached back, passing her hand over the braid her friend weaved, wishing that there was at least a mirror somewhere. Y/N hadn’t seen her reflection in years, except for blurry images in the surface of the Sanctuary’s garden fountain; the wardens rejected vanity amongst acolytes. “I’m gonna get it over with, head straight for the infirmary.”

“Are you positive that’s wise without breakfast? You hardly touched dinner, too,” Meredith’s pale eyebrows shot into her hairline, worry etched between them. 

“I’m worried if I eat, the spinach smoothie will make another appearance as soon as they get the needle in my arm,” Y/N pictured the tasteless breakfast she normally had coming up for a round two and shuddered. “It’ll be okay. Just like every time, right? I’ve been here for years. The local vampires don’t seem to like my blood very much, or at least the ones that this Sanctuary sends it to.”

“Good luck, Y/N. See you at lunch,” Meredith didn’t comment on Y/N’s attempt to brighten up– she knew the stakes were as high as Y/N did. 

God must have felt particularly cruel the day he decided to bestow Y/N with one of the world’s rarest blood types: the coveted AB-, a sought-after type for many vampires. Apparently, all of the blood types had different tastes, but Y/N hardly believed that. Blood was blood; tinny, salty, and a nauseating reminder of fragile mortality. There was a reason she had hidden from the world for many years, drifting from place to place. Those with AB- blood were hardly at Sanctuaries for long before a coven would promptly request them as their live-in donor. Y/N was basically living on borrowed time– she often wondered if her bitterness leached into her bloodstream and spoiled the ‘product’. 

Dragging her palm along the stone walls of the Sanctuary’s hallway, Y/N barely registered the crowd of acolytes passing by on their ways to the dining hall in the opposite direction from where she was going. Y/N was the only acolyte in that particular Sanctuary to have AB- blood, so naturally, she was by herself every Drawing day first thing in the morning, and the top priority of the wardens. Swallowing thickly, the scent of rubbing alcohol had her gagging as it filled her nostrils when she neared closer to the infirmary. 

 Of course, the infirmary wing was cold as ice both temperature wise and atmospherically. In contrast to the Gothic interior of the rest of the Sanctuary, the infirmary was somewhat modern (or was once, in the 80’s), sterile, and covered in pastel vinyl flooring. Her Mary Janes squeaked against the tiles, nervously wringing her hands together as she stared at the plastic dentist’s chair in the corner of the room, the clump of wardens setting up the apparatus to collect blood. Clearing her throat, Y/N pressed her lips together in a line as one of the wardens turned to her– Mrs. Sloane, a severe 60-year-old woman who ran the Sanctuary like the military. Y/N had an acute dislike for the woman, who saw her and the acolytes as nothing more but cattle to raise. 

“AB-, come here. Everything is ready,” her voice was dry, sharp, like a whip cracking down. It had her flinching, but she obediently trudged towards the crinkled old chair, mostly out of fear of having to kneel in the chapel for several hours in punishment if she didn’t follow orders exactly.

Knees wobbling, she lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin. 

“We’ll be taking more than usual today,” Mrs. Sloane announced, and Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock. 

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily. 

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water. 

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness. 

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her. 

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns. 

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in that coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses. 

“Your time is up. Go back to your dorm. The midday meal will be delivered to you,” Mrs. Sloane barked, hauling Y/N up by her wrist. Feet faltering, Y/N swayed and scrabbled for the drywall, blindly feeling her way to the main hallway again. 

Dazed, her arm throbbed where the needle had been inserted, and the only positive that came from that morning’s events was the fact that she’d get to lay in bed all day instead of scrubbing floors. Y/N wasn’t sure how she managed to find her way back to her dorm room, but before she knew it, she was wrapping two blankets around herself and curling up in bed. 

She was woken up by Meredith hours later, the blonde bringing her a tuna sandwich on a undoubtedly stale roll. Choking it down like a wolf, she tried not to cry when Meredith gingerly wrapped a cloth around her arm, which was cruelly left to clot on its own by the wardens. 

“It’s going to be me this time,” Y/N announced dully, eyes on the overcast sky outside her barred windows. “I can feel it.”

“There is no way to know–”

“A new coven has moved to this town,” Y/N cut her friend off, Meredith’s hands stilling. Withdrawing her touch from Y/N’s arm, Meredith appeared tentatively unsure. 

“To Newport?” Meredith’s light eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving. Newport wasn’t exactly a magnet for vampires, most of the ones that resided in the area weren’t in covens at all, just solitary vampires. A new coven spelled danger for Y/N. “I heard that a vampire built one of the famous mansions by the ocean. Do you think one of the vampires could be him?”

“Well, if he is, then I guess I’d get to live like a princess. You know, the one that got locked in a tower with a dragon and shit.”

Y/N had a bad feeling. Not that she was one to have premonitions, but trusting that feeling in her gut is what helped her to survive years before she was brought to the Sanctuary. Meredith stroked the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, but Y/N knew she was just as nervous as she was. Because the coven requested so much of her blood specifically, and was the only person in the immediate area with AB- blood, if the vampires liked her blood her fate was officially sealed. Swallowing bile, she shook her head, not wanting to put the cart before the horse yet. 

“I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I’ve been around for a while, none of the local vampires have been interested. Maybe my blood tastes like dirt, and I’ll be here until I’m elderly.”

“It’s okay to worry, Y/N. However,” Meredith sat on the side of Y/N’s bed, the old wood frame creaking with her weight. “There are many others here with rare blood types. Perhaps they will prefer AB positive.”

“Perhaps,” Y/N agreed, beginning to sit up. “Shall we go to the hall and finish the windows?”

“I have to go to the infirmary wing, it’s my turn. You should rest, Y/N,” Meredith helped her stand, Y/N furiously shaking her head. 

“If I stay here until dinner, my thoughts will continue to spiral,” Y/N shoved her feet into her well-worn shoes, slinging her braided hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. I’ll get started on the windows and wait for you.”

Y/N headed out first, leaving Meredith to prepare herself for her drawing. The blonde often liked to pray before the process, Y/N not knowing whether she was praying to be chosen, or praying to be skipped over. She didn’t have the stomach to ask. 

By herself in the west hallway, she picked up the rag she abandoned the previous evening with a rough sigh. The sky opened up and ice-cold rain began to pelt the windows, crows eerily taking shelter in the eaves of the bell tower. Y/N felt like their beady eyes were on her, able to see through the glass and spot her wiping the window. Shuddering, she couldn’t tear her sight from the birds, the superstitious side of her insisting that they were some kind of omen. 

Two days later, Y/N was trudging through the hollow halls after dinner, which she again excused herself from early. There had been no news about the results of the Drawing, but it didn’t stop her stomach from turning over in anxiety all day long. Hands coming up to rub her biceps, she glanced at the full moon outside of the large arched windows, slightly obscured by thin, dark clouds. 

Kicking a stray stone as she turned the corner to the wing with the dorms, she paused a few feet from her and Meredith’s door with a frown. Light spilled out from the open dorm, more light than would have been possible coming from the small candles she and Meredith were allowed for nighttime reading. Besides, Meredith was still in the dining hall, so the door shouldn’t have been open. Fear sunk into her bones, making a sticky heat flash over her skin with dread. Mustering her remaining courage, she crept towards her room like a mouse. 

Torches were lit up in the usually empty sconces, three wardens, including Mrs. Sloane, rifling through Y/N’s small dresser and nightstand. There was a large, old-fashioned suitcase box on her bed. Horrified and confused, Y/N accidentally bumped into the creaky door and snagged Mrs. Sloane’s attention. 

“Congratulations, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane was sickly sweet, and it didn’t suit her whatsoever. “The coven has chosen you. Help pack your belongings, you leave tonight.”

“What?” Y/N’s world was spinning, vision getting spotty. “Leave? T-tonight?”

“Yes, girl. Are you hard of hearing? Pack your belongings, we are to bring you to the coven in less than an hour,” Mrs. Sloane went back to her snarky self, Y/N holding onto the door in a desperate attempt to stay upright. 

Mrs. Sloane reached for the pocket of her apron, where she kept a metal ruler so she could strike those who disobeyed her, Y/N stumbled into the room and shakily tossed her white skirts into the suitcase to avoid being struck. Hardly able to form a single coherent thought, Y/N moved woodenly, so shocked that tears didn’t even roll down her cheeks. 

“You are lucky. The coven that requested you consists of some of the wealthiest vampires in the world. You will want for nothing,” Mrs. Sloane tossed the final garment Y/N owned into the suitcase, another warden closing it up and bringing it out to the hall. Y/N had to hold her tongue, considering she was about to shout but I’m going to live with monsters. “All seven of them have wealth, in fact. They are rumored to have great powers, as well.”

“S-seven? Did y-you just say seven?” Y/N gasped, flinching when Alfred, the burliest warden in the Sanctuary, grabbed her arm and began to pull her out of the room. She had never heard of a coven so large, and it made every cell in her body light up with sharp panic. 

“Yes, seven. Make haste,” Mrs. Sloane and Alfred hauled her through the Sanctuary, confused acolytes coming from the dining hall making space for them to pass. Y/N recognized the look on some of their faces, relief that they hadn’t been chosen. 

“But, my friends! Please, let me say goodbye,” Y/N begged, tears finally starting to form when she spotted Joseph in the crowd, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Somewhere, Meredith was probably thinking about the book they were going to read together that night. 

“There’s no time. You’ll get to write letters,” Mrs. Sloane refused, a whimper coming from Y/N’s throat as tears began to pour down her cheeks, getting one last look at Joseph who was mouthing something to her. Miserably, she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, Alfred yanking her to the tall front doors, frigid air blasting her in the face as they opened. 

In the courtyard, a place Y/N had only been once or twice when she was first brought to the Sanctuary, there was a horse-drawn carriage. Y/N, had she not been in the greatest shock of her life, would have laughed– wouldn’t it have been easier for her to be taken in a car? Hardly having the time to look back at the Sanctuary she called home the past ten years, her knees knocked together when she was pushed into the carriage with her luggage. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed privacy to cry when in the carriage, Alfred clambering in after her with a grunt. 

Y/N didn’t talk to Alfred, mostly because he rarely spoke. At least he let her silently weep for a few moments, Y/N beginning to process the gravity of the situation. With watery eyes, she looked outside the carriage window, the gothic Sanctuary becoming distant as the horses trotted on. Her dread was temporarily numbed by the opportunity to see beyond the Sanctuary, land she had not seen in years. The trees lining the paved streets were barren, gray, and the hard-packed dirt had not a blade of grass. Even then, Y/N hadn’t seen such beauty in so long– a small taste of freedom before she was locked away for life again. 

Her tears continued to flow even when she greedily took in the sights of the town of Newport, the homes of the wealthy humans who did not have to give up their freedom for vampires, shops that had closed for the day, parked cars on the sides of the streets. It was odd to see the vehicles, considering she had been living in an analog manner for so long, Y/N wondered if she’d ever know what the inside of one looked like. 

“H-how long will it take?” Y/N asked timidly, not confident Alfred would respond, but she tried anyway. The middle-aged man looked up from his Bible, giving Y/N an unfeeling look. 

“We are no more than ten minutes away, now. Wipe your sorry face,” Alfred responded coldly, Y/N’s heart racing when she dabbed at her cheeks obediently. “You will not shame our Sanctuary by showing the coven how miserable you are.”

Y/N had never heard Alfred speak so many words. She was starting to think that was for the best, his words like a slap across her face. Part of her pondered if she’d ever hear a kind word again. Lapsing back into silence, Y/N sniffled up the remainder of her tears, the shock beginning to wear off and her survival skills kicking in. If she wanted to remain sane, and not give the vampires an inch before they took a mile, she had to appear unafraid and unaffected. Strong, confident, and indifferent, but pure, so if not to anger them. Vampires and their purity– ironic.

The houses– if one could even call the structures that– became grander and grander the further they traveled. The massive buildings made the ginormous cathedral the Sanctuary called home look like a garden shack. Y/N had a hunch, as they turned down a road that had imposing iron gates lining yards that looked like parks, that the coven she was to belong to resided in one of the famous Newport mansions. Passing by a white marble monstrosity, Y/N shuddered. The homes looked empty, cold, and imposing. Grand, yes, but the kind of display of wealth that had someone like Y/N, who lived her entire life struggling, clenching her fist in fury. 

“Won’t be long now. Straighten yourself out. The staff is to greet you,” Alfred slapped his Bible shut, grasping for the handle of Y/N’s suitcase.

Breathing shallowly, Y/N’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the carriage brought them to the largest iron gate on the street, initials TK welded between filigree at the top of the barrier. As if by magic, the gates began to creak open, Y/N stunned by her first glimpse of actual electricity illuminating the gatehouse. Of course, she had seen it prior to her life at the Sanctuary, but it was odd to see the night lit up after living by candlelight. Gnawing at her nails, thinking that she could be shocked no further, an audible gasp tore from her when the carriage pulled through the driveway of great trees, an imposing mansion coming into view. 

Y/N had never imagined such a building could ever be constructed. It would take a person hours to walk the entire floor plan, the grounds aside. Y/N was struck by a memory from earlier that week, when Meredith brought up the mansions by the ocean. One of the members of the coven must have been the man that built it, and the only other thing Y/N knew was that the mansion was settled on a steep cliff jutting into the sea. One she could potentially careen herself off of, if need be. 

Her elbow was tightly grabbed again when the carriage stopped before the covered front entrance, bright lights nearly blinding her as Alfred shoved her out of the carriage, Y/N freezing instantly when she felt a foreign touch on her forearm to steady her. Eyes adjusting, she frantically looked up, not ready to deal with a vampire right off the bat. To her great relief, a blue-eyed– not red-eyed man, one dressed in a fine suit, righted her with a tight smile. A human, presumably a member of the mansion’s staff. 

“I–I– I’m sorry,” Y/N managed, cursing Alfred colorfully in her mind. So much for confidence. 

“Quite alright, acolyte…” the man prompted in a British accent, the first whisper of kindness Y/N had in over an hour. 

“Oh. Forgive me. Acolyte Y/N,” she replied quickly, accessing the back of her brain where cobwebs and her etiquette surrounding that event resided. 

“Sir, you may leave. Acolyte Y/N will begin her duties under our watch now,” the man in the suit removed his touch from Y/N’s forearm, not a single strand of silver hair on the man’s head out of place. 

“Contact us if there are issues,” Alfred hardly got out of the carriage, his scarred face twisting into a smirk. Y/N wanted to spit on him. 

“Of course,” the man replied, tight smile still on his lips, standing importantly beside Y/N until the carriage was well on its way back to the gate. “He’s a cup of tea, isn’t he?”

Y/N blinked, not knowing whether or not to agree, if it was her place. Turning to the man, whose posture had loosened up and a more genuinely friendly expression taking over his features, Y/N nodded slowly. 

“Forgive me. I’m Edmund, head butler here at The Breakers. Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N,” Edmund extended a gloved hand to Y/N, who hesitantly shook it. Was he trying to get her guard down by feigning gentlemanly behavior? “I take care of important matters inside of the estate. If you have any needs, you can seek me out. Of course, you’ll have personal maids, as well. Come, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Reeling, Y/N watched Edmund effortlessly scoop up her luggage, timidly following him to the door that was opened by an older man, also dressed in a sharp suit. With a house that size, Y/N realized that the staff must have been numerous to keep everything functioning smoothly. It was somewhat of a comfort that the staff she encountered so far seemed to be humans, likely ones with low status and common blood types. 

Not even the imposing exterior of the building could have prepared Y/N for what the mansion looked like inside. In just the entrance alone, exquisite stone work, massive tiled floors, and tall ornate lamps illuminated by real light bulbs had stars circling around her head. Now that she was inside, she started to feel nervous again, waiting for a vampire to pop out from behind a thick stone column. In awe and in fear of her surroundings, she jolted when a young woman appeared from the left, carrying a tray. 

“This is Nadia, she’ll be your head maid. I’ll take your luggage to your room, and Nadia will show you around the first floor before you retire. She’ll answer any questions you have.”

Edmund bowed to Y/N, which had her blanching in embarrassment. The butler disappearing further into the estate, Y/N turned to Nadia when the young woman cleared her throat lightly. 

“Miss, I’ve brought you some cocoa. Hopefully it will warm you,” Nadia presented her with a large porcelain mug on the silver tray, a thick, sweet smell hitting her nostrils and making her nearly tear up. The only chocolate she could have at the Sanctuary was a square of bitter 100% cacao on Wednesdays and Sundays, not something decadent and rich like the cocoa she was being offered. 

“I can have this?” Y/N squeaked, not daring to take the mug lest it was some kind of trick. Nadia cocked her head, confused by the question. 

“Of course, Miss. Unless you don’t like chocolate, I can prepare you some tea instead,” Nadia began to lower the tray, Y/N waving her hands urgently to stop her. 

“N-no, no, you don’t have to do that! Thank you, I’ll take it,” Y/N wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, the warmth soothing her frozen fingers. “Um, you can call me Y/N if you want, please.”

Y/N was already weirded out, and people addressing her by formal titles was definitely a camel back-breaking straw. Nadia set her tray aside, watching Y/N take a shaky sip of the cocoa. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed when she drained the whole mug in five seconds flat. The drink was thick, rich, and warmed her from the inside out. She both wanted to cry and beg for a second mug. 

“You must be freezing, shall we head into the hall? It’s much warmer there,” Nadia gestured forward, Y/N glancing at what appeared to be a giant ballroom in front of her. Gulping, she nodded, following the woman timidly. So far, not a single mention of the vampires that allegedly lived in the mansion. “If you’d like, I can draw you a hot bath when we get to your bedroom. I’ve filled your dresser with warm clothes for you to sleep in, too, I’ll put them on your bed… This is the Great Hall. I imagine the coven will hold parties here from time to time.”

Y/N didn’t know where to look. Between the sheer size of the space, the ornate artwork painted on the ceiling, and the endless colors swirling around the room, her vision finally landed on the enormous fireplace roaring at one end of the hall. It was then when she noticed it was the first time since mid-October she wasn’t chilly. Prior to that evening, Y/N had a lot of assumptions about vampires. One of the assumptions was that they would prefer to live in a cold and dark environment, but the mansion she was standing in was toasty and brightly lit. 

“It’s… big,” Y/N managed weakly, Nadia leading her to a red-carpeted staircase. All she could do was follow, wanting to ask the maid a few questions about the coven, but she knew that vampires had superior hearing and she didn’t want to attract the attention of one of them. 

“Yes, but you will become accustomed to it. I can help you navigate the interior and grounds until you know your own way around. Oh, right here. This is a portrait of Master Taehyung. He built this estate,” Nadia paused on the landing, where the staircase split into two directions. 

Whipping her head upwards, she soaked in the lines of the old painted canvas, Nadia’s first mention of the vampires making her heart stop dead in her chest. The man depicted in the painting was beautiful, which was typical for the creatures, but Taehyung nearly took her breath away. Dressed in a Victorian-style suit, the vampire had a cold, stern expression. His dark wavy hair was parted down the middle neatly, and of course, the vampiric red irises staring back at her made her stomach turn in fear. Schooling her features, Y/N bit her lip at Nadia’s expectant expression. 

“He’s, um. Handsome,” Y/N offered, hoping that her voice wasn’t wavering, Nadia nodded, resuming her ascent up the stairs. 

“Master Taehyung made his fortune in steamships, railroads, and shipping in the mid-1800’s. He’s a legendary businessman,” Nadia informed her, Y/N cringing that she referred to the creature as a ‘man’. Nadia herself didn’t seem to have a problem with the vampire, and in fact, her voice almost implied that she admired Taehyung. “All seven of our masters are impressive men.”

“Wait, they’re all male?” Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face. She was hoping for a coven of mostly female vampires, theorizing that perhaps they’d be less vicious. 

“Yes, I’m sure you know that it’s atypical for a coven to be both so large and of all one gender. The masters are like-minded, which is why they chose to form the coven,” Nadia explained, stopping at a door at the end of the hall, beside a breezeway that likely looked out onto the ocean. “Here we are, this is where you’ll stay. The rest of the bedrooms on this floor are occupied by five of the masters, Masters Seokjin and Namjoon prefer the bedrooms on the third floor due to privacy of the quarters.”

Y/N swallowed, stepping into her new bedroom, which was bigger than four dorm rooms at the Sanctuary smashed together. The walls were covered in an intricate pink floral wallpaper, all of the upholstered furniture a matching shade of blushing rose, and the marble fireplace was lit already. The room was decidedly feminine, Y/N’s eyes catching on a painting above a nightstand depicting dancing women. Nadia, as she was bumbling around the room selecting clothes from a dresser, noticed Y/N staring at it. It was expertly painted, precise. 

“That is one of Master Yoongi’s pieces, depicting the Nine Muses of Greek mythology,” Nadia placed flannel pajamas on Y/N’s new bed, which looked plush and was piled high with thick pillows. “Master Yoongi is a painter, an artist. Very famous.”

“Really?” Y/N knew nothing about art, let alone Greek mythology. She didn’t have the luxury of studying those things. 

“The hour is growing late, Miss. I can tell you more about the masters in the morning. They will not be back from the affairs that called them away tonight until midday tomorrow,” Nadia pulled out a pocket watch from her apron, heading towards a door by the back of the bedroom. “I’ll run your bath, and leave you to rest. You’ll be woken in the morning for breakfast.”

Moments later, Y/N was left alone in her very own bathroom, not a communal one like she was used to at the Sanctuary with cold water taps. The bathtub had steaming water filling the room with humidity, the scent of lavender oil somewhat easing her frayed nerves. Chewing her lip, she decided she might as well indulge in the hot bath, considering her muscles were beyond stiff and there was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right away, if at all. 

Part of her wondered what kind of ‘affairs’ that the vampires were involved with. If it were her, and she had accumulated all of that wealth and immortality, she’d spend her days lazing around. The other part of her was thanking the sky that none of them were in the building; she had more time to prepare herself to meet the creatures the following day. Stiffly, she began to untie her skirt, letting the fabric hit the floor. Y/N supposed never having to wear those skirts again was a bit of a silver lining. Kicking it to the side, Y/N’s vision caught on something silvery and polished– an actual mirror. Eagerly, she dashed to the sink it was fixed over to catch a glimpse of herself for the very first time in ages. 

Unable to help the gasp that came from her mouth, Y/N didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. The image of herself she had in her mind was her fifteen year old self, not the twenty-five year-old reflected in the polished silver. In awe, she traced her sharpened jaw and cheekbone, lacking teenage fullness, and she realized that she had forgotten the color of her eyes. Tearing up a little, she turned from side to side, getting a look at her figure– even going as far as removing the rest of her clothing in curiosity. Poking at areas of her body she was unfamiliar with in the mirror, like the curve to her hips, Y/N felt rather odd. The whole evening had her entire world turning upside-down. 

After several moments, she tore her attention from the mirror, only feeling slightly guilty of vanity, and tentatively dipped a toe into the bath. The water didn’t immediately dissolve her skin and bones, so she slowly sunk her body into the porcelain basin with a ragged groan. Maybe she had died and went somewhere beautiful, because being treated like royalty so far was not something she predicted. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself not to get too comfortable. She hadn’t even met the coven yet, and for all she knew, they could be horrible individuals. Nadia didn’t speak of them in that way– but maybe the maid wouldn’t dare. 

Y/N sat in the bath until the water became lukewarm and her skin was pruny. Limbs loose, she wrapped herself in a plush towel that was waiting for her on a rack that actually heated the towel. While the ends of her hair dripped water on the tiled floor, she bent down, looking through a chest beside the sink with interest. Each drawer held essential and non-essential toiletries, some things Y/N had never even heard of. Picking up a bottle of ‘skin oil’ and ‘hair detangler’, she blinked in confusion. Was it Nadia who stocked the drawers for her? Or were the vampires considerate enough to provide her with a toothbrush and facial cleanser?

Head full of cotton, she decided to ignore all of the products she was unfamiliar with and simply brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Peeking out of the bathroom door to make sure that no one had entered the room while she was bathing, Y/N tip-toed across the richly carpeted floor towards the ridiculously large bed. The fire was still going, warming the room, and Y/N hesitantly slid into a pair of flannel pajama pants left out for her. The elasticated waistband hugged her hips perfectly, and as she buttoned up the top and pulled on fluffy socks, she speculated about how Nadia managed to figure out her measurements. The Sanctuary probably had some sort of file on all of her personal information, which had her skin crawling. 

While she was still on edge, her body was so relaxed from the bath that with slight resignation, she maneuvered herself under the sheets and heavy blankets, clasping a hand over her mouth as she sunk comically into the mattress. The bed hugged her in all directions, like getting to sleep on a cloud, and as she stared at the ceiling in awe, Y/N squirmed around to get in a cozy position curled up tight on her side protectively. 

The lights would remain on, that was for sure. Y/N was never afraid of the dark per se, but in a new environment, she wasn’t risking things watching her from the shadows of the old estate. While memorizing the shapes of the intricate carvings on the ceiling, Y/N tried to make a mental list of everything she knew about vampires in general, and the specifics of the ones she was about to serve. 

Over the centuries, there were several old wives tales that were circulated by humans surrounding vampires; but Y/N hardly knew which ones were fact or fiction. There were the superstitions passed down through common blood-typed, lower class humans that would work as maids and butlers to the vampires, the awe-inspiring, intimidating tidbits wealthy and influential humans would spread after doing business with the creatures. Then, of course, was the probable propaganda Y/N and her fellow acolytes were spoon-fed in Sanctuaries. 

Y/N started with what she knew was just plain phony: vampires did not have an aversion to the sun and could walk around in daylight as they pleased. They did not flee from crosses or garlic, and they could not be exterminated by a stake through the heart. Acolytes were told that vampires could not be killed, and had few, if any, weaknesses. That was enough to have Y/N shivering, even beneath all of her blankets and flannel pajamas. 

The older the vampire, the less in-touch with humanity they became. There was a recalled memory, a boring lecture in the Sanctuary’s dusty chapel, which consisted of a hazy memory of Y/N copying down ‘Oldest known vampire is aged 1,291 years, but some may be even older’. Y/N couldn’t even fathom living to be in her forties, let alone how it must be to live for over a century. On the other hand, ‘younger’ vampires– under three hundred years old– tended to be bolder, and adapted to modern times with greater ease. 

Vampires needed human blood to sustain their powers, immortality, and to keep their internal organs functioning properly. While considered to be undead, a vampire’s heart kept beating, lungs brought in oxygen, and they could even digest human food if the creatures had consistent access to blood. Squeezing her eyes shut tight at the image of a vampire tearing into a rare steak, Y/N started to count off the things she found out from Nadia about the particular coven that requested her from the Sanctuary. 

First, there was only a brief visual she had of one out of the seven, ‘Master’ Taehyung. Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use a title on any of them, but it was likely out of her hands. Sure, the portrait depicted a handsome young man, with all the airs of importance and wealth– but Y/N couldn’t get his unearthly red irises out of her mind. Taehyung was the vampire that commissioned the construction of the mansion she was currently cowering in, apparently a business tycoon that dominated during the Gilded Age. The next piece of information she got was ‘Seokjin’ and ‘Namjoon’ living on a separate floor for additional privacy, which made her nervous for some reason. Which was more dangerous, vampires in the bedroom next door to her, or those hidden in spots she hadn’t even toured yet?

The last thing she learned about one of the vampires– Yoongi– from Nadia is that he was evidently a famous artist. Cracking one sore eye open, she stared at the elaborately framed artwork above her nightstand again, noticing the fading of the paint and how it aged the piece. How old was the painting, and how old was Yoongi? Shutting her eyes once more, she sunk deeper into the mattress and pulled her blankets over her head. Nadia promised she’d answer any additional questions Y/N had over breakfast, so Y/N miraculously fell asleep by coming up with a handful of queries. 

“Miss, hello? The sun has risen,” Y/N sat up in her bed with a sharp gasp, her hair hanging in her face like a nest. Whipping her head around frantically, she couldn’t believe she actually managed to get some sleep in a brand-new setting so easily. Knocking on the door, as well as a mousy, unfamiliar voice had her stumbling to her feet frantically. “May I come in, Miss?”

“Um, uh, yes, come in,” Y/N panicked, smoothing her wrinkled flannel shirt into place and hastily raking hair from her face. The door creaked open, a young woman who wasn’t Nadia hurrying in– her uniform pristinely pressed. 

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I’m Juliana, I work under Nadia. I’ll be helping you with your morning routine, while Nadia handles more important matters– coordinating breakfast, of course,” Juliana gave Y/N a slight bow, Y/N’s mouth dropping open at the gesture.

Before she could respond, Juliana began to draw the great curtains around the room open, the blinding white light of the early winter morning flooding into the room and stinging her eyes. When her vision returned to her, she gasped again at the sight just beyond the windows. Unable to help herself, she tripped towards one of the windows, grappling for the sill so she could steady herself. 

Her room overlooked the backyard– if one could even call it that– and beyond the manicured grass and gardens was the vast, unending ocean once the landscaping dropped off of the famous cliff. It was like her eyes couldn’t absorb enough of the scenery, and impatiently, she pressed her forehead to the glass plane to gawk at the icy, gray ocean. 

“In this drawer, here, we’ve placed warm pants for you– leggings, jeans, corduroys. If you prefer skirts and wool tights, those are hanging in your closet, and your tops and sweaters are in this armoire, here. Underthings are located in the lingerie chest beside you,” Juliana opened up various drawers, light on her feet and peppy, her curly brown hair bouncing with her movements.

“Lin… lingerie?” Y/N tasted the unfamiliar word on her tongue, attention effectively stolen from the gorgeous view beyond her windows. 

“Forgive me. It’s another word for your undergarments, such as brassiers?” Juliana clarified, raising her brows and crossing the room. Y/N had not a single clue what she was talking about, following her like a duckling. 

“Oh! I’ve never…” Y/N suddenly felt immensely awkward, peering into the drawer that held garments she hadn’t worn while at the Sanctuary– the thick, burlap material of the Sanctuary tops were all she got, not delicate lacy scraps of fabric that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of cradling her chest. “Um, okay. I can… wear whatever I want?”

“Yes, yes, as long as you’re comfortable, Miss,” Juliana took Y/N’s confusion in stride, moving towards the fireplace. Taking up a fire poker, the maid prodded at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I hope you were warm enough while you slept. The fire tends to go out in the middle of the night.”

“Y-yes, I was fine. Plenty of blankets,” Y/N chuckled nervously, not used to being so diligently cared for. Would it always be like that? “Um… have they returned?” 

“They? You mean the masters?” Juliana paused, replacing the fire poker back on the rack. “They’ll be back before noon.”

“Okay,” Y/N was proud of herself for keeping a tremble out of her voice, Juliana gesturing towards a vanity by one of the windows. 

“I can comb your hair, Miss, then leave you to get changed,” Juliana herded Y/N to the cushy stool, Y/N once again blinking at her unfamiliar expression. Contrary to the circumstances, her expression told the story of someone who got plenty of rest the night before. “I’ll wait by the stairs to show you to the breakfast room.”

That time, Y/N didn’t reply. She was too distracted by the feeling of the young maid gliding a fine comb through her hair gently– and with a sharp twist in her chest, she was reminded of the last time someone did her hair– Meredith, on the day of the Drawing. Holding her breath, she waited patiently for Juliana to comb through every snag on her head, surprised when she finally pulled away without braiding Y/N’s hair. Usually, Sanctuaries insisted that acolytes keep their hair braided if female, and cropped short if male. Juliana, however, left Y/N with her hair flowing free. 

“Alright, Miss, take your time getting dressed. I’ll wait for you by the staircase,” Juliana smiled sweetly at her through the mirror, setting the comb back onto the vanity before she took her leave. 

Y/N had a newfound feeling of determination when she absorbed her reflection, suddenly. She was going to get as much detail about the characters of the vampires from members of the staff as she could before the seven of them returned to the mansion. Swiftly, she pawed through various drawers for clothes, stomping to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Tugging on fleece-lined leggings, she cursed at herself in the mirror when it took her several minutes to figure out how to hook a brassier around her bust. The top she selected was a large slouchy sweater, one that hid her figure and hung loosely around her thighs. It made her feel a bit more protected, not having so much skin exposed. There weren’t any shoes in her closet, so she awkwardly stuffed her feet into her Mary Janes from the Sanctuary. 

With a huff, she headed to the hallway, the mansion looking completely different during the day. Early winter sunlight flooded into the building, making the colors of the interior appear vibrant and excessive. Able to retrace her steps from the previous evening, Y/N didn’t have any trouble meeting Juliana at the top of the grand staircase. 

“Right this way, Miss,” Juliana started down the stairs, Y/N glancing at the portrait of Taehyung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed before, but while he certainly seemed cold, there was a sort of melancholy look on his face. 

“Juliana, did um… Master Yoongi paint that portrait?” Y/N launched into her interrogations, the maid cocking her head to look at the painting Y/N was referring to. Y/N had to fight the urge not to cringe when using the ‘master’ title. 

“Hmm. I never thought about that! Master Yoongi is mostly known for his work from the Renaissance. Now that you bring it up, however, the attention to detail does look quite a lot like Master Yoongi’s handiwork,” Juliana continued down the stairs, Y/N grasping onto the banister for stability. If Yoongi’s famous artwork was from the Renaissance period, he’d have to be over 500 years old. “Do you like to read, Miss? The library is full of rare books. Master Hoseok has collected them from around the world for hundreds of years. Nadia can show you the way after your breakfast.”

“Oh–”

“Good morning, Miss Y/N, I hope you had a restful sleep,” Edmund was at the bottom of the staircase, interrupting Y/N’s response to Juliana. “Juliana, you’re needed in the laundry.”

“Yes, sir,” Juliana straightened up importantly, bowing at Y/N again. “Have a nice breakfast, Miss.”

Edmund stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Juliana hurry away out of earshot. The polite smile sort of slipped from his face, attention turning back to Y/N shifting from foot to foot by the staircase. 

“Y/N, after your meal, I’d like to speak with you in the pantry. Have Nadia show you the way,” Edmund said quietly, gesturing to the left. Tightness in her chest increased when he said that, following him through the hall. 

There was what appeared to be a grotto under the staircase, water trickling from a fountain and a couple of seats facing the structure. Briefly, Y/N thought that that would be a wonderful spot to read. Led to a sage-green room, Y/N blushed furiously when Edmund pulled out a chair for her at the round table in the center of the room. There was only one fine porcelain plate set in front of her, along with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. 

“I’ll tell them to send out the food. Please enjoy,” Edmund announced, filling one of Y/N’s glasses with water from a metal pitcher. The butler was gone before she could ask him any questions, but moments later, at least ten staff members were filing into the room. 

Y/N’s eyes immediately bugged out of her head. A vat of creamy scrambled eggs, a platter of toast and pastries with jam and butter, plates of crispy bacon and breakfast potatoes, cinnamon-scented oatmeal, even a board with cheeses and bowls of every kind of fruit one could ever wish to try. Staff arranging everything meticulously, she could only blink as someone poured her a mug of coffee with cream and sugar left on the side, as well as a large glass of orange juice. 

“W-wait, this is… this is all for me?” Y/N hadn’t seen food like that well, ever. Everything looked gourmet and prepped with love and care. She wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but she was going to try her hardest. 

“Yes, Miss. The staff eats before the sun rises,” a young man answered her, setting down a plate stacked with waffles and a gravy boat of syrup. “Meals will be quite large like this until we figure out what your favorite foods are. I hope that’s alright.”

“O-of course,” Y/N felt herself flushing again, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva that was flooding her palate dangerously. “Thank y-you.”

“Enjoy. Call if you would like anything else.”

With that, the staff left her alone in the room, and Y/N didn’t know where to start. She compared the silence of the room to the loud chatter that she would listen to in the Sanctuary’s dining hall. Slowly, she sniffed the steaming coffee in front of her– she had never tasted it. Taking a small sip, she cringed at the bitterness, understanding at once why the bowl of sugar and fresh cream was left beside the mug. Not wanting to waste anything, she stirred cream and sugar into the mug until the drink tasted decent. With eager, shaky hands, Y/N stood with her plate and began to pile food onto it. 

Y/N worked herself around the table. Ignoring the feeling of gluttony, she tried every single thing that was left out for her, her plate stacked so high she snorted at herself when she sat back down. To her embarrassment, she moaned in pleasure when she swallowed her spoonful of eggs– buttery and topped with chives. Urgently, she nibbled on a strip of bacon, the meat hanging out of her mouth as she tore a croissant into pieces. Everything she put into her mouth was the most delicious thing in the world, and she felt like a ravenous bear trying to bulk up for the winter. 

She stopped eating only when her stomach felt it was going to burst, pushing a bowl of peaches and cream away with a grunt. Y/N did try everything, but it looked like she hadn’t even made a dent in the feast. Wiping her face with a fine cloth napkin, she clumsily got to her feet like a milk-drunk baby. Instantly, several staff members swept into the room when she stood to clear the table, Nadia’s familiar face appearing. 

“How was your breakfast, Miss?” 

“I’ve never had such delicious food,” Y/N admitted, absently trailing after her head maid through a door connected to the breakfast room, probably leading her to the pantry. “The chefs here must be very skilled.”

“Master Seokjin insists that we hire the finest chefs in the world. Though he is a vampire, he has culinary interests,” Nadia replied, Y/N finding it hard to walk with how stuffed she was. “Edmund told me you two were going to speak. He’s likely going to give you a formal tour and tell you a few things about the manor, day-to-day routines…”

Y/N turned that over in her mind. The look on Edmund’s face earlier had a sort of graveness to it, which she didn’t think matched up to explaining house rules. Y/N decided to keep her mouth shut, hoping at the very least she’d have her questions answered. Suddenly, they were in a room filled with dark wood shelves holding china and crystal stemware, and when Y/N looked up, there was a loft that held even more shelves and dishes. Edmund was by a table in the center of the room, taking notes. 

“Thank you Nadia. I know you had some errands to run, so I’ll show Miss Y/N around until the masters return,” Edmund looked up from his notepad, Nadia nodding once before turning on her heel to leave the room. 

“Alright, one moment, Miss Y/N…” Edmund said in a chipper tone, moving around the room to shut the doors quickly, which had Y/N suddenly growing nervous– was he trying to soundproof the room, keep the conversation quiet?

“Oh, dear. You do not have to be frightened of me,” Edmund put his hands up when Y/N began to cower in the corner of the room. “I want to offer you information before the vampires return.”

“R-really?” Y/N released the breath she was holding, timidly getting closer to the table Edmund had returned to. He had a grandfatherly look about him, kind and warm. It was not lost on Y/N that he didn’t refer to the vampires as masters.

“It was lucky that they were called away yesterday. I fear you wouldn’t have been prepared had they been here. Now, listen; this is very important. Most of the staff treats the coven like gods. I am the only one in this estate who you can talk about the coven negatively.”

Not a good start, Y/N thought, shivering. 

“Negatively, sir?”

“Child. Looks can be deceiving. I know you that in the hours you’ve been here already you have been treated gently. The coven will not follow suit. They are cruel, heartless creatures. You must do everything in your power to not upset any of them,” Edmund enunciated clearly, Y/N’s heart dropping in her chest. “The powers they possess are extremely dangerous. They do not have emotions like you or I.”

“The way Nadia talked about them… painted a different picture,” Y/N uttered desperately, Edmund looking out the window wistfully. 

“I’ve been with the coven for decades, while they lived in Europe. Nadia has only been around for five years, and she does not deal with the coven as I do. She has not seen what they’re capable of.”

“Are you telling me this because you feel bad for me?” Y/N suddenly became defensive despite her terror, hating when she was pitied in any circumstance. 

“No, child. I want to help you. I want to warn you, before they come back and they size you up,” Edmund shook his head, looking down at the notes he was taking earlier. “You are dealing with four vampires that are very old and disconnected to humanity. The younger three are wild and reckless. It's important to remember this.”

“How old…”

“I’ll tell you a bit about each of them specifically in a moment. My largest piece of advice to you is never directly show the coven you’re afraid of them. Of course, they’ll be able to scent it on you, but do not give away your fear verbally, or you will be backed into a dark corner and toyed with.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed, then dreading the coven’s return to the estate. 

“You asked how old they are. I’ll start with the eldest, who is the most respected vampire in the coven– he has seniority, you see, due to his age and his status. Seokjin is 879 years old, and when he was human, he was a crown prince of a Korean monarch,” Edmund began, using a handkerchief to dab his dewy hairline. “He may appear very calm and unaffected, but he absolutely despises humans. He hardly tolerates the staff, and we know not to bother him unless necessary. Under no circumstance should you lie to him, ever. I’ve seen him kill many staff members and even associates over being deceived. One more thing about Seokjin… the ‘power’ he has. Vampires call it ‘Compulsion’. He has the ability to make telepathic suggestions to others in order to control their thoughts, even wipe memories. He can convince a man to jump to his own death, or forget his happiest memories.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. All of the questions that she had come up with before falling asleep completely fled from her mind, and all she could do was grip onto the wooden table with slick palms. Over 800 years old– Seokjin was ancient, otherworldly, and sounded like a monster. 

“On the other hand, the youngest in the coven, Jeongguk– just 124 years old. He has the gift of Telepathy, so you must learn to control your thoughts around him. If somehow, Seokjin is unable to find out you lied to him, Jeongguk can tear through your thoughts and report it back to him,” Edmund continued, tapping his notepad with his pen. “Quite a few in the coven have much experience with violence. Jeongguk, when he was human, was a bodyguard to Al Capone. When he was turned, he was not only a bodyguard, but he read the minds of enemy gangs to relay back to Capone. He’s strong and lacks empathy, so he kills without mercy.”

“How… will I be able to control my thoughts? He’ll know I’m terrified, he’ll…”

“I can teach you, when they’re away on business. It is difficult, but can be done. Child, let me finish telling you what I know before they’re due back.”

Y/N clammed up, growing more petrified by the second by each word that came out of the butler’s mouth. By the time he had run through the basic personalities of each of the vampires, Y/N had a cloth soaked in cold water pressed to her forehead. For lack of a better word, she was fucked. 

“I’m sorry to tell you all of this,” Edmund said quietly when he was finished, regret flashing over his face. “Just know, you have someone here who is on your side. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from their wrath, or at least train you to handle it. Fortunately, you’re needed by them– while they may be cruel to you, they need you alive in order to sustain themselves.”

“Spectacular,” Y/N wheezed, wishing she didn’t eat so much breakfast. She didn’t want it to make a second appearance. “To think I was going to press you for information. I don’t know if I was better off in the dark or not.”

“Certainly not. You know what to expect this afternoon, somewhat. Keep your guard up, and try to keep your fear in check, and the introduction can go smoothly,” Edmund insisted. “Perhaps… while you wait for their return, you can peruse the library, as Juliana suggested.”

Edmund began to open the doors again, and Y/N understood that meant their conversation was as good as over. 

“Edmund?”

“Yes, child?’

“Won’t they know that you warned me about them? Will you be punished?”

“Don’t worry about me, child. The coven knows how I feel about them, it’s earned me a teaspoon of respect. Besides, no other butler in the world wishes to work for them. Rumors of their behavior, you see,” Edmund placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, smiling faintly. “Come. I’ll give you a brief tour and then escort you to the library.” 

About fifteen minutes later, Y/N was left by herself in the dark, intricate library. Hardly giving the alleged ‘rare’ books collected by Hoseok a glance, she sank down into a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames blindly. Curiosity killed the cat, and Y/N hardly knew what to do. Every single one of the vampires were murderous, unfeeling monsters with horrifying powers. Powers they’d likely be using on her any moment. 

Y/N didn’t know who she was afraid of the most. Seokjin sounded menacing, Jeongguk dangerous and immoral. The others, she didn’t even know where to start sorting out what she learned. There was Hoseok, Y/N’s eyes shifting to the weathered books on the shelves, who was once a pirate over four hundred years ago, and had the ability to ‘Track’ people by scent. Edmund told her that Hoseok could find anybody without fail and even predict their future moves. He was greedy, fond of drinking, and impulsive. 

She wondered if it was Namjoon she was most afraid of. His power was definitely the worst one: with eye contact and focus, he could inflict pain on others compared to being burned alive, a power called Pain Illusion. Apparently, he was once a Korean military general roughly four hundred years prior, and once turned, he became a sword-for-hire. Edmund told her that he enjoyed the kill, enjoyed watching others suffer, and was second to Seokjin as far as the hierarchy of the coven. Like the elder vampire, Namjoon had a disdain for humanity. Edmund told her to be especially careful around Namjoon, as he was a known sadist. 

Head in her hands, she groaned. Yeah, Namjoon definitely was the scariest. The other three were no daisies, either, but the thought of having to experience what Namjoon’s Pain Illusion felt like was enough to have her heart racing. 

Apparently Taehyung is the most deceiving of the bunch. He had all of the etiquette of a Gilded Age businessman, but Edmund relayed that he was absolutely ruthless when it came to his affairs and could Glamour his appearance. Jimin, a famed playwright of romantic tragedies the same years Jane Austen was active, was notoriously manipulative, hedonistic, and a feared Hypnotist. Finally, the artist, Yoongi– apparently studied under an artist named Leonardo da Vinci, and was secretly known for using his power of Paralysis on his models so he could paint them for hours without interruption. 

That tacky sort of nervous sweat began to roll down the notches of Y/N’s spine. None of the vampires sounded friendly at all. Y/N knew that it would be wishful thinking to expect all of them to be somewhat tame, but she had hoped for at least one that wouldn’t be insane or murderous. Hugging her knees to her chest, Y/N counted her breaths to calm down. Heeding Edmund’s initial advice would be wise; trying to keep her thoughts bland, maintaining aloof confidence. Not bursting into tears, or trying to hide behind Nadia’s skirts. 

Chin resting on her knees, Y/N closed her eyes. She wondered what Meredith and Joseph were up to. In the mornings after breakfast, typically they'd have study and silent prayer in the chapel. Y/N considered herself to be somewhat of an atheist, so usually she’d daydream while on her knees, eyes glazed over. Meredith would let Y/N lean her shoulder on hers, and Joseph would make sure she wouldn’t fall asleep and get punished. Sadness filled her at the thought of her memories. It was likely she’d never get to see Meredith or Joseph ever again. Too busy wallowing, Y/N jolted in her seat when Nadia appeared in front of her, repeating her name several times. 

“Miss, the masters have returned. We must greet them outside,” Nadia offered Y/N a thick winter jacket, Y/N audibly gulping. She’d run out of time. 

Heart thundering in her chest, Y/N shrugged into the maroon felt coat, shuffling after Nadia with resignation. It was like the a monarch was coming, countless members of staff hurriedly heading to the front entrance or flying up the stairs with various linens. Deciding to think of only her friends, Y/N replayed scenes of the two of her closest kin harvesting vegetables in the gardens during the summer months. Reading with Meredith by candlelight in dramatic voices. Horsing around with Joseph in the hallways when they were supposed to be dusting statues. 

Outside, the grounds were clearer to her in the daylight. In the spring, the landscaping was probably breathtaking. Quietly, she stood between Edmund– the head butler, and Nadia– the former giving nothing away regarding their private discussion surrounding the coven. Holding her breath, Y/N watched the large iron gates swing open, the purr of car engines filling the quiet street. 

Biting back a surprised noise, Y/N supposed she shouldn’t have been stunned to see a line of luxury cars pulling into the drive. The first in line was a sleek, vibrant-blue colored sports car, followed by a cushy looking black sedan, two black SUVs, and two more small sports cars– one in cherry red and the other canary yellow. 

No one said a word. Y/N counted the vehicles again– there were only six. Again, she was thinking about the excess of wealth. Would it kill them to share cars? Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the blue sports car’s doors opened first– upward, like a spaceship. In succession, the rest of the roaring engines cut off and Y/N stared blankly at the carport’s carved stone ceiling to put off matching names to faces. She hadn’t even considered how old they looked physically, were they middle aged– Christ forbid, were they teenagers? 

“Master Seokjin. I trust everything went well?” Edmund bowed deeply, Y/N urgently copying the movement when the butler glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 

“Who’s this little girl?” Seokjin ignored Edmund’s question, Y/N’s eyes on the highly polished loafers that were just in front of her. 

Y/N finally straightened up to take a look at the vampire in front of her, and all of the oxygen was sucked out of her lungs when the most beautiful face she had ever seen was studying her right back. He appeared to physically be in his early thirties, but the faraway look in his eyes gave away his true ancient age.

Tall, broad, and dressed in an expensive looking suit, the dark-haired vampire had his full mouth twisted into disapproval. With his short, choppy bangs, they gave a perfect view to sculpted eyebrows, a pallor to his flawless skin, and of course, the red eyes narrowing while he waited for an answer. Y/N felt like she had to look away, so her eyes slid from Seokjin’s statuesque face to the second figure disembarking from the blue sports car, the passenger. 

“This is Acolyte Y/N, from the local Sanctuary. The AB- donor. She arrived last night,” Edmund bowed again, this time at the second vampire storming up the steps to the front door.

“Take this upstairs, Nadia,” the second vampire, again, an exceedingly gorgeous man, barked. While his voice was rich and smooth like silk, he curled his nose up in a snarl when he spotted Y/N beside her head maid. 

“Yes, Master Namjoon,” Nadia grunted when a briefcase was shoved into her chest, Namjoon scoffing once at Y/N before disappearing into the mansion. Three things Y/N noticed about him: the skinny Asian-style sword strapped to his massive back, the thick leather gloves on his hands, and the air of total hatred coming off of him in waves. 

“Didn’t think she’d be such a… scrap of a thing,” Seokjin sounded bored, almost disappointed she wouldn’t put up a strong fight. 

“The Sanctuary diets aren’t particularly nutritious. She’ll gain more muscle and mass after a few weeks with our great chefs,” Edmund reassured the eldest vampire, whom Y/N wished would stop staring at her and simply go inside. 

“Make sure she’s present for dinner,” Seokjin drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Y/N. Was… she for dinner? “I have calls to make. Tell the chefs twelve courses tonight, rich food. The little girl needs more meat on her bones to be of actual use.”

With that, Seokjin brushed past the butler, Y/N’s head already spinning. Next thing she knew, there were three more vampires stalking towards her and Edmund, Y/N wondering which one was the one that could read her uneasy thoughts. 

“Oh? A little dove!” A borderline childish voice is what caught her attention first, wicked delight coloring his tone. 

If his eyes weren’t so frightening, the grin stretching across the vampire’s face could have been on the cover of a magazine. He flicked his overgrown black bangs out of his face, biting down on his plump lower lip with a sharpened fang. Contrary to the chilly weather, all he wore was a loosely buttoned, thin white shirt, revealing a large strip of his pale bare chest. 

“Jimin, don’t get carried away like last time. You’re always breaking your toys,” One of the others, leaning against a stone column, picked his nails while tsking. That particular vampire wouldn’t even spare her a glance, his wavy dark hair curtaining his face. While his body was lean, hands were extremely weathered compared to the rest of his smooth, pushing-30-years-old complexion. 

Knees wobbling from that remark, the third vampire, who was eyeing every inch of her thoughtfully, noticed the movement with a slight smirk and a narrowing of his feline-like eyes. 

“Aw, that wasn’t my fault, Hoseok. Don’t listen to him, little dove! We’re going to have fun together,” Jimin, evidently, pouted, but the effect didn’t soothe her when she saw a psychotic glint reflected in his irises. “Ugh, I hate traveling. I hope there’s wine in my room…” 

Jimin winked at her as he slunk inside. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok, the most casually dressed so far in a simple dark turtleneck, trailed after, Y/N noticing how sharply cut his jawline was and the geometrically perfect way his nose turned up into the air. 

“Master Yoongi, is there anything I can get for you before you resume painting?” Edmund cleared his throat, the long-haired vampire finally stopped smirking at Y/N, shaking his head silently. As soon as Yoongi stopped looking at her, she felt like she could breathe again, her fingertips twitching. “We’ve purchased fresh oil paints, as per your request.”

Wordessly, Yoongi was in her presence at once, and the next, with a blur, he was gone. 

“Vampiric speed,” Edmund murmured, Y/N swallowing thickly. She had forgotten that not only did they have individual powers, but they had strength and speed, as well. Only two more to go– Taehyung and the mind reader, Jeongguk. “You’re doing well.”

The driver of the second car that had pulled into the driveway, the black sedan, finally cut the engine. The second SUV, the first of which belonged to Hoseok, had long since been turned off but no one emerged from it. 

“Master Taehyung typically likes to take a walk around the grounds after returning from business. Here, however, is Master Jeongguk,” Edmund schooled his features, him and Y/N robotically bowing at the final vampire she was to greet. The mind reader. 

“Hello,” Y/N blurted impulsively, much to her chagrin. The youngest vampire appeared to be around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and besides his ghostly complexion and red eyes, Jeongguk looked remarkably like a human man– perhaps like Joseph, but far more muscular. 

“Edmund, I’m assuming this human is the AB- acolyte?” Jeongguk completely ignored Y/N, which had humiliation pulsing through her body painfully. “Let’s see, you. Look at me.”

Y/N froze, Jeongguk stooping to make his face completely level with Y/N’s. Suddenly, the grip she thought she had on her thoughts melted away into nothing, and she got lost in the doelike quality of the youngest vampire’s eyes. 

“Typical, Edmund. Warning her about us? All you did was terrify her,” Jeongguk murmured, his youthful voice but a coo. Y/N knew not to trust it, especially when his chilled index finger jabbed into her cheek. “Who’s Joseph, AB-? A lover from the Sanctuary?”

Y/N’s tongue turned to stone in her mouth. Like his covenmates, Jeongguk was extremely handsome, but taunted her coldly. Luckily, she had motor function, shaking her head in the slightest. Tongue probing into the meat of his cheek, Jeongguk stood to his full height, the dark brown trench coat he was wearing hiding just how truly large he was. 

“You’re fortunate you’re the only butler available to us. Your head would be on a pike, if it were up to me,” Jeongguk, in a mild tone, addressed Edmund, who simply looked at the vampire placidly. 

“Yes, sir,” Edmund took a leather bag from the vampire, Y/N unable to believe how easy it was for Jeongguk to enter her mind– her memories pulled from her mind to his in hazy flashes that had her skull throbbing. 

“Y/N,” she flinched when Jeongguk addressed her by name, whipping her head around to watch him stalk up the stairs behind her, wearing a murderous smirk. “Wear something pretty to dinner, alright?”

Acid began to crawl up her throat, and when Jeongguk disappeared in almost a mist, Edmund placed a grandfatherly-like hand on her upper arm. 

“Relax now, Y/N. You did well. Very well. You won’t see any of them until dinner. Returning to your bedroom for now would be wise, Nadia will help prepare you for the meal,” Edmund whispered, gripping Jeongguk’s bag in one of his hands. “Head in, child. You’ve been in the cold long enough. Soak up the warmth, while you can.”

It was a miracle that Y/N didn’t make deep dents in the carpet of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. Escorted to her room after meeting six out of the seven vampires, Y/N was left to her own devices that afternoon. Nadia had left her a stack of books to entertain herself before dinner, Y/N thinking that she’d rather swallow shattered glass than sit at a table with the monsters. 

Halting, Y/N stood in front of one of the windows, hands coming up to brace herself on the windowsill. The ocean was choppy thanks to a biting wind blowing in from the North, the color of it almost black. Was it too late for her to jump off of the cliff? If she made a run for it, would anyone catch her before she could fall to her merciful death?

Eyes glazed over, her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. Suddenly and inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, like a cold draft of air swept through the room. Ears picking up movement, Y/N spun around, a startled yelp coming from her mouth at the sight of the figure at her door. One of the vampires actually sought her out, lazily trailing his crimson eyes up and down her form. Tripping backwards, Y/N’s back was pressed into the icy windowpane. The vampire boldly stepping into the light, Y/N realized who it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Be careful, little dove. It would be a shame if you fell through the glass and cracked that skull of yours open before we even had a chance to play,” Jimin teased, though the taunt was far from an innocent jest. 

“W-wha–”

“I said, careful. Think about how to speak to me before you stutter out something disrespectful,” Jimin sneered, crossing the room in a split second. Flinching, his face was mere inches from hers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His eyes, while certainly red, were sort of a dulled tone, and there was nothing good-natured about his expression at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking. Jimin seemed to accept the apology, tsking and backing up a degree. Y/N forced herself to remain calm, the vampire pushing up the sleeves to his blouse. His chest was even more exposed than it was before, his muscles seemingly carved from white marble.

“That’s better, dove,” Jimin hummed, falsely sweet. “You can’t wear those rags to dinner. Juliana!”

Jimin’s voice was sing-songy, the vampire putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently. Swallowing with great unease, Y/N’s palms were slick as she held onto the windowsill. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps flooded into the room, Y/N’s fright easing a degree when Juliana and several other maids joined her and the vampire in the bedroom. At once, Y/N’s eyes went owlishly wide, each of the maids carrying brightly colored gowns, stacks of velvet boxes, and more pairs of shoes than she could count. 

“The latest fashions… Chanel and Dior, Cartier jewelry. Fashion design has come a long way these last few centuries– not bad for a bunch of humans,” Jimin seemed like he was talking to himself, plucking a heavy looking necklace up from the open case Juliana was holding. Y/N still couldn’t get over the childlike lilt to his voice, paired with the unsettling confidence he carried, cautiously returning eye-contact when he sauntered towards her. 

“Dressing your new doll, Jimin?” Hoseok appeared in the doorway, Jimin still entirely focused on getting Y/N pinned to the window. The older vampire had a bottle of liquor in his grasp, an amused smirk on his face. Y/N felt ill. 

“Rubies suit her, don’t you think, Hoseok?” Jimin bit down on his lip with a fang, like he did earlier. Then, his voice took on a silky tone, an index finger curling in her direction. “Come here, dove.”

Y/N didn’t want to comply, but after nearly a heartbeat, everything in her body was telling her that it was okay, more than okay, to get close to Jimin. She wanted to, needed him, it felt like she could hardly breathe. In a darkened corner of her mind, Y/N’s rational self realized Jimin was using Hypnosis on her, and there was nothing she could do to resist his his call. Moving on autopilot, Y/N almost stumbled over her feet to close the distance between herself and the vampire. 

With a satisfied, wicked grin, Jimin tilted his head, looking down at her through his dark lashes. Spellbound by his presence– how had Y/N gone her entire life without him? Unprompted, she gathered her hair up and held it over her shoulder, exposing her bare neck to the vampire. Excitement flashed through her when Jimin licked his lips, and when his chilly fingers traced along a fluttering vein by the base of her throat, Y/N squirmed in delight. So removed from herself, as if in a trance, she obediently stayed still as Jimin clasped the necklace around her throat. Past the haze, she could hear an amused snort coming from Hoseok watching by the doorframe. 

“Isn’t that nice?” Jimin hummed, adjusting the jewelry so it sat perfectly on her clavicle. Boldly, he tugged at the neckline of her sweater, exposing more of her skin, the strength in his touch stretching out the flimsy wool with ease. 

“Very obedient, pet. Juliana, get her ready for dinner,” Hoseok snarked, taking a swig from his liquor. 

Slowly, like roots of a tree pulling up from the earth, the influence Jimin had over her mind and body untangled from her being with a deep ache. Different from the throbbing, disorienting pain that filled her brain when Jeongguk infiltrated her thoughts, Jimin’s affect gripped her entire being as if her bone marrow was bruising. With a whimper, Y/N staggered to the side, Juliana promptly righting her by one of her arms. Jimin had used his vampiric speed to join Hoseok at the door, winking at Y/N trying to catch her breath. 

“Here, Katie. Make the human a pre-dinner cocktail. She looks like she’s going to suffer from a paranoid break. I abhor hysterics,” Hoseok loudly placed his glass bottle of booze on one of Y/N’s nightstands, addressing an older woman who was holding several silky dresses in her arms. 

With that, the two vampires shut the door behind themselves, the sounds of their expensive shoes marching down the hallway, leaving Y/N to figure out what just happened. The necklace around her throat felt like a ten-pound weight, and if the room wasn’t full of maids who acted like nothing happened, she would have ripped it off and pelted it at the bedroom door. Noise buzzing around her, rustling of skirts, the only thing that kept her on her feet was Juliana’s arm slung around her lower back. 

“Alright, Miss, let’s get started on your bath,” Juliana said airily, Y/N feeling a single tear slip down her cheek, which she hurriedly swept away with her sweater sleeve before anyone caught it. “I have the most lovely hairstyle in mind for you. Master Jimin seemed to like that necklace on you, so we’ll pick something red to go with it.”

Y/N was astonished. Juliana was in the room when that whole interaction happened, was she not? Did she not see how Jimin hypnotized her, and was she not disturbed by it? Perhaps it was something only Y/N and the two vampires could sense happening, but Y/N had never felt more vulnerable and alone. Hollowly, she let Juliana herd her into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat, she wasn’t fully listening to the maid, tracing her fingers over the polished stones around her neck. 

“The chefs have been working so hard today on the meal, it’s going to be wonderful, Miss Y/N! I helped the executive chef select ingredients at the finest market in town,” Juliana tested the water coming from the bathtub’s tap, pouring various vials into the water. “I picked up some moisturizing rose oils, bubbles, and powdered milk for the bath. I even managed to find dried flowers, which is rare for this time of year. Come, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“H-huh?” Y/N squeaked, not wanting to strip her clothes off in front of somebody else. 

“It’s quite alright, Miss. We’re your personal maids, there is no reason to be bashful,” Juliana insisted, keeping her eyes low, but helping Y/N to her feet. Too afraid to protest, Y/N stood statue-still as the maid carefully removed the necklace Jimin put on her and handed it off to another nameless maid. “Have you ever heard of a spa day? Think of it as that!”

“Spa day?” Y/N repeated stupidly, blushing furiously when she was left in just her brassier and the scrap they called underwear. Juliana turned, allowing Y/N to remove her undergarments and get into the mass of perfumed bubbles piling up in the tub. “Never heard of that… is that a holiday?”

“No, Miss,” Juliana giggled, her cheeks pink with merriment. “You’ll just enjoy some beauty treatments. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to do things like this, so you’ll have to forgive us if we go overboard with spoiling you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word for how Y/N felt. At that point, she was going to get whiplash from being treated like a princess by the staff at one moment, and like a toy by the vampires the next. Bitterly, Y/N came up with the hypothesis that the reasons she was getting ‘spoiled’ was either out of pity, or that the vampires wanted their toy shiny and flawless. Katie, the older maid from before, appeared with a crystal glass filled with some kind of bubbling liquid, a slice of a blood-red orange floating amongst real ice cubes.

“As per Master Hoseok’s request, Miss. It’s a blood orange rum sour, his favorite,” Katie slightly bowed, a wisp of gray hair falling from her low bun. Alarm bells went off in Y/N’s head. 

“Blood?” 

“It simply refers to the color and variety of the citrus, dear. Not actual blood,” Katie’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Y/N took a sniff of the drink, recoiling slightly at the burn in her nostrils. She knew it was alcohol– something she never tried before. 

“Alcohol isn’t allowed at the Sanctuary. They tell us it’s bad for acolytes,” Y/N felt like a lamb going up for slaughter, unsure and anxious. Warm water was being poured down her back from a cup, where Juliana was slowly soaking the strands of her hair to wash, and it made her shiver. 

“Well, dear, you’re here now. You may drink as much as you or the Masters deem suitable,” Katie bowed again, whisking away back into Y/N’s bedroom to select her dinner outfit. 

If she knew anything about alcohol, it was that it had the ability to steel one’s nerves. Which was something she desperately needed- so bravely, her eyes fluttered shut and she took a hearty swig of the cocktail. The first thing that washed over her palate was bright, juicy citrus, but when she swallowed, the burn of alcohol made the contents of her stomach sting. Grimacing, she willed herself to drain the glass, wondering when she’d feel the effects. Gut boiling, she kept her eyes shut as Juliana worked shampoo into her hair. 

“You have such pretty hair, Miss Y/N,” Juliana complimented, Y/N’s cheeks hot– not just from the compliment. A haze, a pleasant one, had her humming. Was it the way Juliana was massaging her temples, or was it the booze flooding through her system? “Anything else we can get you? Another drink?”

“Okay?” Y/N replied, just a tad bit more comfortable with asking for things. Juliana called out for Katie while she rinsed Y/N’s hair, the warm water making her sigh. 

And when she had another drink in her hand, Juliana wrapping a hot towel around her conditioned hair and a third nameless maid using a sandy scrub to slough off flakiness from her years-neglected skin, Y/N started to feel giddy. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad– being pampered sure was nice, and Y/N had always been strong-willed. Edmund was right, earlier; the vampires needed her alive, so they wouldn’t dare kill her. To Y/N’s knowledge, there wasn’t another human in the nearest Sanctuaries with blood as rare as hers. 

It was like she could feel her backbone growing, only peeling one of her eyes open when something odd was gliding up her legs. Cocking her eyebrow curiously, she watched the third maid– Mei– use a razor to shave downy hair from her legs. Strange. 

When she was sufficiently scrubbed, shaved, and presented with oil and lotion to apply, Y/N was left in the bathroom to dry off and slide into a terry cloth robe. Wobbling a little when she got out of the tub, Y/N giggled as she slathered herself with a floral scented lotion, her legs foreignly baby-soft. The cocktails were certainly doing their job, Y/N pinching her cheeks in the mirror and fixing a determined look on her face.

She was always the brave one amongst herself, Meredith, and Joseph. Why should she dissolve into a puddle of helplessness and meek responses? Even though she was being made over into a perfect angel for a group of demons, she held significant power. She didn’t need the coven to survive, but they did. 

With renewed courage, Y/N returned to her bedroom. That time, only Nadia and Juliana remained, both of them waiting for her by the old vanity that was littered with appliances, jewelry, and cosmetics. The sun was starting to set, making the sky a burnt orange over the silver ocean.

“How’re you feeling?” Nadia smiled at her through the mirror when Y/N sunk down onto the stool, Y/N returning the expression. She thought that might have been the first time she smiled in the previous 24 hours. 

“Relaxed,” Y/N answered honestly, sitting still while Nadia worked a silky product through her hair. Juliana, however, began selecting various powders and tubes and comparing them to Y/N’s complexion with a concentrated pout. 

“Fantastic! I’m pleased to hear,” Nadia seemed to glow, like it was her life’s duty to pamper and please Y/N. 

Lapsing into silence, Y/N stared at her reflection while Juliana began to dust her face with powder, and Nadia fired up a device that seemed to dry her hair. Buzzed, she watched the two maids make her up into a princess that Y/N used to read about with Meredith, her unruly hair manipulated into a pretty style, shimmering ruby gloss being painted across her lips. 

Once the ‘hair dryer’ was switched off, Y/N dared to ask a question that popped into her mind when she got to the bottom of her second cocktail in the bath. Rolling back her shoulders, she got Nadia’s attention while she was sliding a sparkly hair clip into Y/N’s hair. When the query left her lips, both of her maids' expressions went from merry to grim– which wasn’t encouraging.

“Nadia, what happened to the coven’s previous donor?” 

“Where is the human sitting?” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, a dull ache all over his body. It had been too long since he had fed on human blood, and his immortal body was feeling the deprivation. “Might I suggest… not next to Jimin?”

“Why, do you want that little girl at your side instead?” Seokjin hardly looked up from the documents he was signing, already seated at the head of the dining room table. “You’re not the greedy type, Yoongi. Leave that to Hoseok.”

Yoongi curled up his lip into a snarl, but would not offer a retort to the elder vampire. Really, the only one who had the balls and Seokjin’s grace to allow challenging was Namjoon. With a sigh, Yoongi took his usual seat, his fangs aching. Since they returned to the estate, the scent of AB- blood intensified Yoongi’s longing to have a taste of that sample the coven received earlier in the week. Idly, he traced the veins on the back of his hand– usually pale blue, but with the lack of blood flowing through his system, they were nearly dark gray. 

“Which documents are those?”

“From the UN. They want us to sit in on an Assembly in December,” Seokjin sounded terribly bored, mostly because he was to death. Another human war he’d have to offer expertise on, expertise that would probably be ignored. After all, Seokjin and his covenmates were really only invited out of fear. 

“What a pain in the ass,” Hoseok arrived at the table, collapsing onto the seat beside Yoongi. Kicking his feet up on the polished table, narrowly missing the china that was set there, Seokjin’s pen-scratching stopped. “I hate New York City. Filthy place. Should have burned it down when I still had my ship.”

“Was New York even established when you still had a ship, Captain Morgan?” Seokjin snarked, staring once pointedly at the bottle of rum in Hoseok’s hand, and then at his boots on the table. “Put your feet down, now.”

Hoseok rolled his rust-colored eyes but obeyed, knowing not to anger Seokjin unless he wanted Namjoon to use his ‘gift’ on him. Taking a swig of the rum, Hoseok frowned– the longer he went without human blood, the duller his taste buds got. He only tasted a flat note of cinnamon, not even the sting of the liquor. Hopefully, he’d get a taste of the mousy acolyte that night. 

Snapping his fingers sharply, a staff member appeared out of the shadows to take the signed documents from Seokjin. With mild annoyance, he checked his watch for the time; he told Nadia, the human’s maid, to have the girl at the dinner table at 8 PM sharp. Nadia still had ten minutes before her life was in danger. Seokjin couldn’t stand humans who couldn’t follow simple directions. 

“Is twelve courses really necessary? We’ll be here for hours,” Hoseok complained, mostly because he’d have to hear the chefs drone on and on about the ingredients of each dish and the beverage pairing that went with it. 

“You saw how pathetically frail that human was. If she is to serve us, she needs to gain weight,” Namjoon thundered into the room, his tread heavy and confident. He sat closest to Seokjin, on the left, his expression made of stone. Again, Hoseok rolled his eyes. 

“I agree. With just a few gulps, I could drain the little dove dry,” a melodious voice joined the conversation, Jimin giggling when he sunk into his chair just across from Namjoon. Annoyed with the buttons on his shirt, Jimin tugged the last one free, letting both sides of the garment hang loose. 

Namjoon set his jaw in warning, already bracing himself for how insufferable Jimin would become with the arrival of the girl. Namjoon thought it was beneath him to interact with humans unless necessary, while Jimin preferred to see just how far he could push them. Jimin simply grinned back at Namjoon, slow and seductive, a muscle pulsing in the elder vampire’s cheek. 

“Control yourself, Jimin. You’re on thin ice,” Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his voice airy and high. His voice had even forced Namjoon somewhat stiff. “Taehyung, have you contacted Berwind?”

The owner of the estate the coven currently called home made his entrance, still in his tweed suit from earlier. Taehyung looked exactly like he did in the portrait of himself hanging above the grand staircase. It’s like time, for Taehyung, stopped in 1869. 

“Wait, why?” Hoseok straightened up, with distaste on his face when Taehyung took the opposite head of the table– across from Seokjin. “That guy is a blowhard.”

“Well, the blowhard might be our newest partner for marine affairs. You want a new ship, do you not?” Taehyung pointed out blandly, rubbing the grayish veins over his temples. “We’re going to have to host a party soon. He won’t agree to anything unless we get a selection of acolytes and fine wine.”

“She has five more minutes…” Seokjin murmured to himself, secretly wishing Nadia would give him an excuse to blow off steam. “Where is Jeongguk?”

“Hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat to get Seokjin’s attention, pointing to the door leading into the butler’s pantry. 

Jeongguk emerged, his hands shoved into his pockets as a very sheepish looking set of sous chefs followed him with silver trays. 

“I don’t know why they expected us to eat food when the lack of blood has stolen our sense of taste,” Jeongguk drawled, a chef shakily placing a cordial glass in front of Seokjin. 

It contained the remainder of the AB- sample, the acolyte’s blood. The glass was hardly on the table before Yoongi snatched it up, draining it in one go. Anything to relieve the ache. Even after five hundred years, Yoongi could never get used to the feeling of being starved. 

“So sorry, Masters,” one of the chefs bowed, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing. Normally, he would have broken a limb for the forgetfulness, but he didn’t have it in him that evening. “Hors d'oeuvres will be out momentarily.”

Jeongguk scoffed, glancing curiously when Seokjin started tutting as the youngest vampire began to take his usual spot beside Namjoon. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Leave a space between you and Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin ordered firmly. “The human will sit between you two, lest she decide to flee the table, you two will be able to restrain her swiftly.”

Jimin pouted, his lips stained with the blood he sipped from his cordial glass. Seokjin was about to get up to deal with Nadia failing to follow his order when every vampire in the room paused, clumsy footsteps hurrying in the direction of the dining room. Covered poorly by expensive perfume was the scent of unease, alcohol, and mortal vitality. 

“Cutting it close, Nadia,” Seokjin purred, the maid blushing as she ushered the young acolyte into the dining room. 

The girl, dressed in a velvet ruby cocktail dress, fidgeted with the short hem of the garment while gawking at the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her racing pulse was audible and visible; veins fluttering at the base of her throat. 

“I apologize, Master Seokjin. I’m afraid Juliana and I got carried away with dressing Miss Y/N for dinner. It has been a while,” Nadia bowed, the human acolyte flinching when Jimin was abruptly at her side. “Please, enjoy dinner. I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Oh, our little dove! You’re in the Mugler dress, your maids chose so well…. Matches the rubies perfectly,” Jimin cooed while poking the choker around her neck, the rest of the vampires knowing that there was nothing sweet about Jimin’s approval. Jimin, despite the raised brow from Seokjin that was directed towards him, took up one of Y/N’s trembling hands, dragging her further into the room. 

“Thank you,” Y/N breathed, intimidated and sounding like she was far from flattered. Jimin delighted in the way her body completely locked up with his touch, her palm slick with perspiration. 

Stumbling in her heels, Y/N had no choice but to be escorted to the table by Jimin, her large eyes widening when she realized who she was to be seated between. Pulling out her chair like a perfect gentleman, Y/N snatched her hand back as soon as she tumbled onto the velvet cushion. Jimin didn’t seem to care, simply smirking, stalking back to his own place at the table. There was a pause, Y/N glancing around the room at both the fine decorations and the vampires, fingers still twitching at her dress hemline. It was likely she hadn’t worn something so revealing before. 

Y/N blinked when her sight landed on one of the heads of the table, the vampire in the portrait on the staircase staring back at her blankly. He looked precisely like he had in the painting, down to the light-colored suit. Sure, his face was a bit more drawn and he was much paler, but it was almost like he stepped out of the canvas like a realm-walker.

Nervously, she peeked to the left, where Namjoon was, the vampire taking a sip of a red liquid from a small glass, his leather gloves still on his large hands. He caught her gaze from the corner of his sharpened eyes, Y/N knowing at once what he was drinking– far too viscous to be wine, too red, it had to be blood. Whose blood it was, exactly, Y/N hoped she’d never know. 

“It’s yours, of course, remnants of the sample. Humans are so dim,” Jeongguk easily read her thoughts, not even having to put in effort to enter her mind. Even with the lack of effort, he could tell Y/N was uncomfortable with him probing around in her skull, the girl wincing and rubbing her forehead. 

“Do not sap her of energy yet, Jeongguk. She must eat so she can be useful,” Seokjin sighed, still tasting her on his tongue. Though she was malnourished, her blood was still the finest he had tasted in centuries. 

“What were they feeding you at that sanctimonious dump, pet?” Hoseok, still lazily slouching, drawled. Y/N hesitated, not knowing whether or not to reply, making Hoseok grow impatient. “Speak when spoken to. Articulate.”

“U-uh, um… organ meats, mostly. Lentils and kale,” Y/N squeaked, her complexion a touch green. 

“Poor little dove. How repulsive,” Jimin pouted, the expression teasing. 

Y/N opened her mouth, fidgeting in her seat, Taehyung watching her mortal movements with fascination– they could never quite sit still. Before she could speak again, squirming under the weight of seven ruby gazes, staff members dressed in suits and white gloves came from the butler’s pantry carrying dishes. One of the staff members was carrying a silver ice-bucket with a bottle of wine, Y/N eagerly waiting for more alcohol to take the edge off. Whatever she had earlier had long since worn off. 

“Good evening, Masters, Miss Y/N,” a man in a chef’s uniform began, standing beside Seokjin at the head of the table. “Tonight’s hors d'oeuvres is oysters rockefeller with Sambuca and garlic-buttered sautéed spinach, paired with Clos des Bouquinardieres Muscadet. Please enjoy.”

Jeongguk laughed when he read Y/N’s mind trying to wrap around unfamiliar words. Rubbing her forehead again, she stared at the odd thing placed in front of her. As someone poured wine for her– to her disappointment, only about an inch of liquid splashing into the glass– she was immensely curious about the seashell placed delicately on a tiny plate, containing something breaded within. 

“Never had seafood before?” Hoseok raised a dark eyebrow, ignoring the oyster and going straight for his wine. 

“This is seafood?” Y/N blurted, Jimin finding her innocence quite entertaining. She was like a young girl he’d write as his heroine in one of his tragedies. Hoseok, however, glared at Y/N’s failure to answer his question. “I’ve just had t-tuna before… M-master Hoseok.”

“Master! Look at that, the pet is already learning her place,” Hoseok’s laugh was boisterous, bouncing off of the great walls, a thin whimper leaving from the back of Y/N’s throat. Namjoon had heard whimpers like that millions of times: pure, involuntary fear. It made him smile behind the rim of his wine glass. 

“Enough. Eat,” Seokjin’s voice was a hiss, plucking up the small fork specifically for shellfish. “Yoongi. I want you to get in touch with some artists in Italy. We’ll invite them here when we host Berwind, you know how much he loves being in the company of talent.”

Yoongi chewed the oyster thoroughly, relieved that he could actually taste the flavor after just a small sip of the acolyte’s blood. All of the painters Yoongi once knew, the ones he actually wished could be present during a party, were long since dead and gone. He’d have to write to modern artists, who would be frothing at the mouth for an opportunity to meet Yoongi. What a bore. 

“I’ve seen Gianluca Traina, his work isn’t half-bad. I can reach out to him and Agostino Iacurci,” Yoongi leaned back, letting a staff member take his plate. His hands itched to paint, loathing that he’d have to sit through eleven more courses. In particular, as he watched the young human girl cautiously raise a fork to her mouth, he wanted to capture how she looked when she tasted a flavor brand-new to her. “They’re no Boticelli or Michelangelo, though.”

“Too bad your mentor wasn’t turned,” Namjoon spoke up, though Yoongi knew Namjoon really didn’t care one way or the other. 

“Da Vinci would have hated the modern age,” Yoongi muttered nonchalantly, Namjoon scoffing at the name-drop. Not that the human would have known who the artist was, Namjoon confirming that she had no idea who Leonardo da Vinci was when she peered at Yoongi vacantly, draining her wine glass with a shaky grip. 

Y/N felt the wine burning in her stomach, stuck between relieved that she was being ignored for the moment and filled with anticipation for the next time the attention would be on her. 

“Next we have the amuse-bouche. Pickled baby beets with herbed goat cheese, candied kumquats and basil chiffon. With it we have Sancerre.”

The chef reappeared, the next small plate and glass of wine placed before Y/N. The food, so far, were like works of art, and Y/N almost felt bad eating it. Especially when she thought about the bland, mushy pile of goo her fellow acolytes at the Sanctuary were picking at while she ate like a queen. 

Mercifully, all the vampires talked about for quite some time was the event they were planning for the following week, and they left Y/N alone. Her guard was not coming down any time soon, so she stayed quiet as a mouse through each course. 

Acorn squash soup garnished with pepitas, purple radish microgreens and sage oil with prosecco. Native lobster, roasted heritage carrots, carrot puree, buttermilk puree, spiced crumb and chardonnay. Kale and brussels sprout salad with maple-candied pecans, honeycrisp apples, pomegranate and lemon vinaigrette with sauvignon blanc. Ingredients, flavors, and textures Y/N never even dreamed of before. By the time she stuffed the last slice of apple from her salad into her mouth, Y/N was already feeling quite satiated, and the wine was dizzying up her head. Or perhaps it was Jeongguk still fishing though her mind. 

“Seven more courses, human. Don’t think you can leave this table before then,” Jeongguk reminded her mildly, her suspicions confirmed. Thankfully, she caught herself before she could grumble at him. 

“Tell me, little girl. Did you spend your entire life in that Sanctuary?” Seokjin asked, curious about how much she knew about vampires. That, and he was concerned about her purity; though judging by her innocence, he didn’t predict that to be too much of a problem. 

“No, Master Seokjin,” Y/N replied, apprehensive towards a round of questioning. 

“Elaborate.”

Swallowing, Y/N glanced down at the fish that was just delivered to her, stomach turning. She found it hard to look at any of the vampires for too long, but Seokjin’s face was so hauntingly beautiful, it hurt to look at. 

“I was brought to the Sanctuary ten years ago, when I was fifteen. I grew up on the outskirts of town and was raised by my grandmother. When she passed away, I drifted until I was caught by wardens who were testing human’s blood types on the street.”

“I’ve noticed those vans around town. Wardens drive them around looking for new acolytes,” Jeongguk remarked helpfully, when Hoseok looked distantly confused. 

“You have the rarest blood type in the world. How is it that you were not immediately sent to a Sanctuary upon your birth? It is the law,” Seokjin was frowning, extremely annoyed. Fifteen years of alluding a system set up so meticulously led him to believe she’d be wayward. 

“I was born off of the grid, not in a hospital. My grandmother faked my blood results later on, when we were visited by Sanctuary wardens,” Y/N spoke softly, too afraid to raise her voice. She didn’t like the sharpened edge to Seokjin’s tone. 

“I don’t understand how an elderly woman could have pulled that off,” Hoseok said, his mouth flattened into a line. “What happened to your parents, pet?”

Y/N flinched, reluctant to give up a vulnerability to the predators. She knew she wouldn’t be able to conceal her thoughts, however, with Jeongguk still prying into her head. With the fish cleared away, a roasted chicken was put in front of her– this time, with a glass of red wine. Before answering Hoseok, she sucked down the velvety liquid. 

“My mother died in childbirth, I never knew her. Apparently my father was just a fling, I didn’t know him, either. It was just me and grandma,” Y/N pushed a strand of pasta around on her plate, doodling shapes with the tip of her fork in the creamy sauce. 

“The little dove is an orphan. How tragic,” Jimin’s excitement was paramount. There was nothing he loved more than a heroine with an ill–fated past. Y/N was disturbed by the twinkle in his eyes, barely able to finish the rest of her chicken. 

“Um, it’s alright. You can’t really miss what you never knew,” Y/N spoke impulsively, like she was talking to Joseph or Meredith rather than seven vampires who were effectively perfect, lethal strangers. 

“Adorable,” Jimin gushed, licking his lips. Yoongi, beside Jimin, pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated with Jimin’s theatrics. It came naturally to Jimin, being a writer of dramas and screenplays, so Yoongi couldn’t actually fault him for it, but it was dreadful to withstand. 

Blood rushed to Y/N’s face, the three youngest vampires in the dining room becoming coiled and ready to pounce. Seokjin simply held up his hand disinterestedly, a silent order for the fledglings to get control of themselves.

“Oh! What’s this?” Y/N had become incredibly loosened up thanks to the seven various wines she tasted over the course of the evening, cocking her head at the small silver dish placed in front of her. 

“Miss, it’s a lime sorbet with mint to cleanse the palate before the second main course,” A staff member poured a bubbly wine into a skinny flute for her, presenting a miniature spoon for Y/N to use.

“Sor-bet…” Y/N repeated slowly, scooping up some of the treat, the iciness washing over her tongue bizarre and making her audibly exclaim. A frozen sweet wasn’t something she was able to have at the Sanctuary, and it brought a tear to her eye. 

“They brought out the Dom Perignon, what do they think, we have the Pope here?” Hoseok lifted his champagne flute to his face, watching the bubbles dance in the glass. 

“Is it expensive?” Y/N dared to ask, a distant part of her screaming to shut up. Hoseok’s expression darkened when she addressed him, so she instantly corrected herself. “Master Hoseok.”

“Taehyung will only drink expensive wines. That champagne you so hastily gulped down is the most expensive vintage wine that money can buy, pet,” Hoseok smirked, Y/N becoming embarrassed that she did, in fact, knock the drink back.

“You paint me as a snob,” Taehyung frowned, earning a dry chuckle from Jeongguk. 

“Take a look around this place, for Christ’s sake. Of course you’re a snob,” Jeongguk remarked, gesturing around the lavish dining room they were seated in.

Y/N was positively stuffed. In fact, she clasped a hand over her mouth when a rack of lamb and rice replaced her empty sorbet dish, not wanting to eat another bite. She felt if she did, the velvet dress she was in would rip open. 

“You will eat it all,” Seokjin barked when Y/N made no motion to pick up her fork, the sound making her flinch into Namjoon’s thick shoulder. The vampire stiffened, a disgusted look on his face, Y/N’s skin flashing with heat. “You will eat it, or I’ll allow Jimin to go over there and force-feed you.”

That threat terrified Y/N, Jimin’s grin widening when she caught his eye. Without another second spared, Y/N began cutting through the meat, much to Jimin’s disappointment. With a bereft sigh, Jimin leaned on his elbows, craving some trouble he could stir up. 

Diligently, Y/N picked her way through the final courses, nearly gagging on the rich chocolate truffles that ended the meal. She was laughed at again– that time by Hoseok, when she asked if she could really eat the ‘gold leaf’ dusted on top of the dessert. The final drink that was offered was an espresso ‘martini’, which is what careened Y/N out of tipsiness and straight into dizzy intoxication. Giggling for no particular reason, Y/N started folding her napkin into different shapes, forgetting who her company was. 

“She’s a pretty little dove, isn’t she?” Jimin held his face in his hands, ravenous even though he had plenty of human food in his stomach. 

“Those words are familiar,” Jeongguk deadpanned, Yoongi spotting where things were going a mile away. 

“I bet she’d look pretty all drained, too. Like the last girl,” Jimin’s voice was dreamy, and it was fortunate that Y/N was too distracted by her cocktail to pick up on what he was going on about. 

“Watch it,” Jeongguk warned, not wanting to end the evening with Jimin’s dramatics.

“Oh, come now, Jeongguk… don’t you want to pin her down, fangs in her throat?” Venom flooded into Jimin’s mouth, watching Y/N’s pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “We could always find another, too, after we drain her. You take a wrist, I’ll–”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin interrupted quietly, looking up towards the chandelier. The whole table went silent, Jimin’s mouth slamming shut, regret all over his sculpted face. With a grunt, Namjoon stood from his seat, slowly stalking around the table. 

Y/N’s attention towards the vampires was recaptured when she noticed Namjoon, eyes dark and determined, approaching Jimin. The silence deafening, Y/N watched curiously when Namjoon bent low, face close to Jimin’s. Even Y/N could sense Jimin’s fear, and it made her instantly nauseous. 

Namjoon gripped Jimin’s sculpted jaw, his gloved hands rough against Jimin’s skin, and for a moment, Y/N thought Namjoon was going to kiss the younger vampire. Narrowing his eyes, Namjoon squeezed Jimin’s jaw, Jimin going absolutely rigid when they made eye contact, the martini glass Jimin was holding shattering in his grasp. Horrified, Y/N watched Jimin shake, eyebrows scrunched up in agony, and she realized Namjoon was using his ‘gift’ on Jimin. For what, she wasn’t sure, but it was terrifying that he could inflict so much pain on even a vampire. 

“Enough,” Seokjin called, Namjoon releasing Jimin’s jaw at once, and the younger vampire gasped for breath, his body sagging over the table. “I told you you were on thin ice, Jimin.”

“Sorry,” Jimin heaved, only apologetic because he had to suffer from Namjoon’s Pain Illusion. The sensation of being burned alive was unbearable, but he didn’t regret what he said. Besides, it was trouble that he was craving earlier. 

“No you’re not,” Namjoon hissed, Y/N unable to process how scary Namjoon looked, standing beside Seokjin with his arms crossed. Y/N swore to herself, in that very moment, she would do everything in her power to avoid Namjoon using Pain Illusion on her. 

“Can we wrap this evening up now?” Yoongi asked, peeved. He wanted to isolate, to paint.  

“Not yet,” Seokjin twirled an empty wine glass contemplatively, his eyes then on Y/N. “Come here, little girl.”

“W-what? Why?” Y/N asked with dread, still nauseous. Seokjin clicked his tongue, agitated. 

Come here, little girl.

That time, Seokjin’s voice was in her head rather than out loud. Forgetting that he could use Compulsion, she felt her skin crawling hearing his dulcet tones inside of her head. Staring at her expectantly, Y/N was frozen in her seat. Seokjin snapped his fingers, and Namjoon rounded the table again, hooking one of his gloved hands under Y/N’s bicep. Roughly hauling her to her feet, she was effectively dragged to the head of the table, Y/N starting to hyperventilate and panic. Namjoon’s grip was bruising, her skin smarting when he let her go. 

Sit. 

Seokjin’s voice in her mind was firm and authoritative, spreading his legs expectantly. Y/N’s eyes bugged out of her head– there was no way on God’s green planet she was sitting on that vampire’s lap. Still borderline hysterical, she did the only thing she could think of: beg and plead. 

“P-please, please. Don’t hurt me,” Y/N had a tear running down her cheek, Seokjin’s expression hardening at the sight. 

Sit down.

Suddenly, Y/N’s spine went rigid. Seokjin’s mental suggestion didn’t seem so bad, then. Even though she was still crying and breathing heavily, her body moved on its own, lowering herself onto one of Seokjin’s thighs. The power of his suggestion, his Compulsion, was impossible to override, so embarrassingly, she was perched on Seokjin’s lap. The vampire curled a hand around her waist, his hold ironclad, to keep her in place. Panic setting in further, Y/N continued to beg the eldest vampire pathetically. 

“Please, I’m begging you,” Y/N whimpered, Seokjin setting his wine glass down and tracing his fingers over a steak knife beside it. 

“Jeongguk, Taehyung,” Seokjin sighed, exhausted. The little girl was proving to be difficult, so he’d need some persuasion to keep her quiet. Confused, Y/N looked at Jeongguk, more tears slipping down her face when she felt him worming her way into her memories. 

“I do not know if you’re aware how a coven operates…” Seokjin began, Y/N finding it hard to focus on his voice while Jeongguk was in her head. “But as the head of the coven, I must be the first to bite you. However, my covenmates… they’re starving.”

Chest heaving, Y/N hated the sturdy feeling of Seokjin’s chest pressed against her back. He was cold, plucking up the steak knife and totally indifferent to her hysteria. 

“Y/N, it’s okay!” A familiar, cheery voice had her head snapping in an opposite direction, pure amazement washing over her at the sight of the person across the table. 

It was Joseph, from the Sanctuary, dressed in his usual white linens and grinning at her. The sight of him had her tears drying up, even if she had no idea how her friend had gotten there. She didn’t even notice he had taken the spot that Taehyung once sat in. 

What Y/N wasn’t aware of was how Joseph managed to arrive at The Breakers. It was simple: Jeongguk found memories of Joseph in the acolyte’s mind, Seokjin pried the image of Joseph from Jeongguk’s report, and sent it to Taehyung, who then Glamored himself as the acolyte’s friend. The visual of her former friend was enough to have Y/N calming down somewhat, Taehyung keeping up the act by using words that ‘Joseph’ would. 

“I bet that meal was a lot better than the Sanctuary slop. We had canned tuna tonight.”

“Joey? How did you get here?” Y/N breathed, watching Joseph (Taehyung) push a hand through his dark curls, one of his common habits. 

You are going to be calm while I do this. 

Seokjin’s voice, a siren’s call in her brain, told her. She wasn’t entirely focused on the vampire whose lap she was sitting in, hardly aware that he was holding onto her wrist with a cold hand. All of her panic went away instantly, melting on Seokjin’s lap, limp for him. 

“Just visiting. Actually, it’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Joseph replied, Taehyung wondering just how close the two of them were as he saw Y/N through Joseph’s eyes. 

“I-I guess?” Y/N answered, still staring at her friend in disbelief. She froze when she felt something cold and sharp against her wrist, looking down to see that Seokjin had the steak knife against her skin. “Wait, what are you–”

“Y/N, I think you’ll be happy!” Her friend interrupted, distracting her. Taehyung inwardly smirked at how easy it was to fool her. 

“H-how? Ah!” Y/N yelped, Seokjin dragging the knife’s blade across her flesh, cutting into the skin. A three inch long gash was created, blood immediately spilling down her palm, Y/N out-of-body when Seokjin placed her wrist over the empty wine glass. 

“Look at me, Y/N. It’s alright. Hey, remember when we used to weed the garden together and see who could pull out the most dandelions?” 

“Uh-huh,” Y/N’s voice was far away, somehow relaxed in Seokjin’s arms and talking to her friend even though her wrist was just slit. Joseph was right, it was alright, everything was okay, and she’d be fine. “You’d always win.”

“That’s right, squirt. You could never beat me.”

His nickname for her had a stab of pain rocking through her. It really was Joseph!

“J-joey,” Y/N began, feeling lightheaded from the blood flowing from the gash on her wrist. “What were you trying to tell me when they took me away?”

Joseph seemed puzzled, Taehyung unfortunately not having an answer. Thinking on his feet, he composed himself, leaning forward, and came up with a response the girl would likely be satisfied with. 

“Oh, I said that I’d write to you every week. That I’d never forget you.”

Y/N didn’t reply, her expression wiping blank. Taehyung didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Surprisingly, Jeongguk couldn’t even decipher what she was thinking when he probed into her skull. All he felt coming from the girl was deep remorse. 

Then, Seokjin lifted her wrist again. Trembling, she turned to get a look at his perfect face, gasping sharply when the vampire brought her hand close to his face. Full lips parting, his tongue dragged along the cut he made on her wrist, and Y/N gawked in awe as she watched Seokjin’s eye color go from rusty to deep, dark red. 

“Vampire venom can cauterize wounds,” Taehyung’s low voice rang out, and when Y/N turned her head, Joseph was gone and Taehyung had returned to his seat. It was then that she realized she had been deceived, and her heart dropped. Joseph was never truly there, it was Taehyung Glamoring himself to make her docile. 

“Pass it around,” Seokjin spoke from behind her, his grip likely leaving a deep bruise on the small of her waist while Namjoon reached for the wine glass– nearly full to the brim with her blood. 

With horror, Y/N watched Namjoon take a deep gulp from the glass, color returning to his skin which took on a golden tone. His eyes, too, became richer in color, and in a daze, Y/N was still as the glass made its way around the table, each of the vampires seemingly coming back to life as soon as her blood touched their lips. 

Stay still, little girl. 

Seokjin, still ordering her around mentally, started to gather her hair in one of his fists, pushing it over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck. Helplessly, all Y/N could do was squeeze her eyes shut, knowing what was coming. 

A pair of cold, but plush, lips parted against her throat, the eldest vampire collecting her in his arms firmly as razor-sharp fangs brushed her skin. Gripping the edge of the dining table, she shrieked when she felt Seokjin’s fangs sink into her neck. 

There was a stinging sensation– probably the venom– but a head-to-toe pain flooded through her all at once. It was repulsive to feel Seokjin’s temperature immediately heat up, his chest becoming warm like a human’s, all because of her blood flowing into his mouth. Unable to move due to his supernatural strength keeping her caged, she felt hot tears pouring down her cheeks while Seokjin latched onto her. The recognizable sensation of blood leaving her body, the sensation she hated more than anything, was intensified now that it was literally being sucked out of her. 

“Please,” Y/N wheezed, broken. Everything was spinning, and her vision was dimming. 

Finally, Seokjin’s fangs retracted, the girl like a rag doll in his lap when he used his tongue to stop the bite from bleeding further. Though she was slight, simple, and weak, her blood was life-giving, and some of the best blood he had ever tasted. The emotion he was feeling, using the back of his hand to clean up the trail of blood dripping down his chin, was comparable to human amazement that he hadn’t felt for over eight hundred years. 

Y/N was completely shaken. Over the course of several minutes, she was manhandled and maimed, deceived and manipulated, and bitten. It was more horrible than she ever could have imagined, her head fuzzy and the side of her throat throbbing painfully. 

Get up. 

Seokjin’s voice haunted her, and she never wanted to hear it again. She knew, however, it was just the beginning of him residing in her mind, and it made her want to use the bloodied steak knife he used on her to cut her own throat. His mental suggestion was so powerful that she actually ended up struggling to her feet, finally out of the eldest vampire’s proximity. 

“What did I tell you all? She’s a good little pet,” Hoseok, the picture of vitality with her blood in his system, chuckled, Y/N’s knees buckling before she collapsed on the floor. 

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[springtyme]

Can we get pregnant reader and baby Spencer pls? Like seasson 1-5 ish 🥹 It would be so cute, i just know he would be so excited but also nervous to be a dad. Thank you ❤️ Love you sm! Your writing is always so amazing

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡

Thank you for the request, anon <3 This was such a cute idea!

Spencer Reid x afab!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: After a week apart Spencer is back home to navigate your early pregnancy together.  

word count: 2.1k

tags: Fluff. Comfort. Pregnant reader. No use of y/n.

The sun peeks through the blinds of you and Spencer’s shared apartment, casting a soft glow on the room. You lay in bed, your hand resting on your stomach, a small smile dancing on your lips. It has been almost two months since you discovered the little secret that is growing inside you. You haven’t really started to show yet, but it can’t be long until you do. 

Spencer is still asleep next to you, his unruly hair splayed across the pillow. You turn on your side, admiring the way his long eyelashes brush against his cheeks. He looks so peaceful in his slumber, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth in your chest from the sight of him. The faint sound of his breathing fills the quiet room, a soothing rhythm that lulls you deeper into your thoughts. It is a surreal experience, knowing that in just six months’ time, the two of you will become three. 

It was not planned, you’re both still young and navigating the complexities of life, Spencer’s job with the BAU demanding long hours and intense focus, not to mention the dangers that come along with it. There is a lot of uncertainty, but you’re happy. Very, very happy. There is no one you would rather do this with than him. 

He came home late last night from a case. He was gone for almost a week, and you have missed him terribly. You always miss him when he is away, of course, but the ache of his absence feels way more severe now, compounded by the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your mind about the future, as well as the hormones that seem to be amplifying just about everything. 

You shift slightly, careful not to disturb his slumber. Your fingers brush against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, the familiar scent of his shampoo wrapping around you like a warm hug. You can already picture him reading to the baby, the two of them snuggled together on the couch, his voice low and soothing as he spins tales of adventure and knowledge. 

You scoot closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm, seeking comfort in his presence. The warmth radiating from his body is inviting, and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to breathe in the serenity of the morning.

The minutes pass slowly, and the sun continues to rise, illuminating the room with golden hues. Spencer shifts beside you, his arm wrapping around you instinctively, pulling you closer. You can’t help but chuckle softly, delighted by his subconscious need to keep you near. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about the kind of father he will be—protective, nurturing, and endlessly loving.

You sigh constantly as you settle further into his embrace. Spencer begins to stir slightly, his eyes slowly fluttering open, blinking sleepily as he processes the morning light until they finally focus on you, a soft, sleepy smile spreading across his face. “Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep but laced with warmth and affection.

“Good morning, handsome,” you reply, unable to suppress your smile in return. 

His smile widens, but you don’t miss the tiny glint of concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, I think I’m finally over the morning sickness stage,” you say, “Just a little queasy here and there, but nothing I can’t handle. A little tired too, but I think that’s to be expected.”

Spencer’s gaze drops to where your hand rests, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your words. “Tired, tired? Or… emotionally tired?” He tilts his head slightly, his hazel brown eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and curiosity. 

“Maybe a bit of both. I mean, it’s hard to keep track of my feelings these days. Sometimes I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster, and I didn’t even buy a ticket,” you admit, smiling softly as you reach your hand out to brush a few errant strands of hair from his face and tuck them behind his ear. He grabs your hand, gently pulling it from his ear to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your palm. The gesture sends a flutter through your heart, a reminder of how deeply he cares for you and the little life you’re nurturing together. 

“I’m here for you, you know that, right?” Spencer says, his voice steady and reassuring. “Whatever you need, just tell me.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude for him. “I know, and I appreciate it. Honestly, just having you here makes everything feel better. Even when you’re away, just knowing you’re out there doing what you do best… It’s comforting.”

Spencer’s expression softens, and he nods, understanding the weight of your words. “It’s tough being away from you, especially now... I wish I could be around more, be more present.” His brows knit, his gaze falling to your hand which he’s still holding, his thumb gently rubbing circles over your knuckles. “Honestly… I’m scared.” Spencer’s voice trails off, his vulnerability hanging in the air between you like a delicate thread.

You can see the internal struggle etched across his features, the way his mind races with possibilities and fears. “Scared..?” you prompt gently, encouraging him to share what’s weighing on his heart. A beat of silence unfolds between you as he gathers his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared about being a dad. That I’m not going to be good enough… I don’t know one thing about being a dad… My own dad didn’t teach me anything, besides how not to be one…” His voice cracks slightly. “And it’s not like I can just look it up in a book,” he continues, his eyes searching yours for understanding. You could argue against that, he has been buying a lot of parenting books, but you know what he really means. 

Your heart aches at his raw honesty. You turn to face him fully, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can look into his eyes. “You’re going to be an amazing dad. I know you will. You’re already doing so much for us, Spence. Just being you is enough. You’re so kind and intelligent, you have so much love to give. You’ve always been there for me, and I know you’ll be there for our baby too.”

He shakes his head slightly, the doubt still lingering in his expression. “But parenting is a whole different ball game. What if I don’t know how to handle everything? What if I don’t have the right answers?”

You lean closer, cupping his cheek with your hand. You know him well enough to know exactly how his mind works in situations like this, that he is about to go into overdrive, his mind racing with scenarios that haven’t even happened yet, letting his mind spiral into a whirlpool of ‘what-ifs’ and doubts, but you’re not going to let him do that now.  

“You don’t have to have all the answers. No one does. It’s okay to be uncertain. What matters is that you care, and that you’re willing to learn and grow. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

Spencer’s eyes soften at your words, though the worry doesn’t completely dissipate. “I just want to be the best for you both. I want to give our child everything I didn’t have.”

“Spence,” you say gently, “you are already giving them so much. You’re here, you care, and you’re already thinking about what it means to be a parent. That’s what matters. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about doing your best.”

He exhales slowly, processing your words, and you can see the tension in his shoulders begin to ease just a fraction. 

You lean in and kiss him softly, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little more with the tender touch of his lips against yours. When you pull away, you look into his eyes, wanting him to see the sincerity in your gaze. “We’ll make mistakes along the way, but we’ll learn from them. And we’ll always do the best we can.” 

Spencer nods slowly, his expression shifting from doubt to a tentative hope. For a while he just stares at you, openly and vulnerable, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face. The sunlight continues to pour into the room, casting a warm halo around the two of you, and in that moment, everything feels right.   “You’re so beautiful,” he finally whispers, his voice filled with admiration. 

You feel a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks at his compliment, and you can’t help but smile, feeling cherished and loved. “You’re not too bad yourself, genius,” you tease gently, nudging him playfully.

Spencer chuckles softly, the sound a delightful melody that fills the air around you. “I still can’t believe we’re having a baby,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “It feels surreal.”

“Surreal is definitely one word for it,” you agree, your heart swelling with affection. 

“And you’re already so good at it,” he adds, his gaze unwavering as he takes in your expression.“You’re going to be an incredible mom.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can feel the warmth spreading through you again. “I really hope so,” you say, your voice soft. 

A comfortable silence settles between you, filled only with the sounds of your breathing and the gentle hum of the city waking up outside your window. It’s a moment just for the two of you, where the world outside feels far, far away, leaving just the two of you and the little life growing inside you.

Spencer shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to mirror your position. He places a warm palm on your stomach, his fingers splayed gently across your shirt. You can feel the heat of his hand seeping through the cotton, and a wave of comfort washes through you. “I can’t believe our little one is in there,” he murmurs, his eyes wide with wonder.

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “I know, right?” You lean into his touch, reveling in the connection that’s forming not just between you and Spencer, but also between the baby and their father.

“Do you have a feeling about what they’re gonna be? Girl or boy?” 

“No,” you shake your head with a smile. “I know people say they usually have a feeling one way or another, but I honestly don’t know. I’m just excited to meet them, no matter what.”     

Spencer nods thoughtfully, his fingers still resting on your stomach, his brow furrows slightly in thought before he responds. “I think I’d like to have a little girl,” he says after a moment. His voice is soft, almost shy as he speaks.

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Oh really? Why a little girl?”

“I mean, I will be happy no matter what—ecstatic, really. I already am. It’s just that when I picture them, it’s a girl.” Spencer replies, his thumb caressing your stomach softly. “I can already picture her sitting on my lap, just like how my mom used to do with me when she read me stories… I am pretty scared about all of this, but I’m also really, really excited. I want you to know that.” His voice is filled with sincerity, and you can see the determination in his eyes.

You can’t help but smile at the image he paints, a vision of a little girl nestled in his lap. It’s a beautiful thought, and you can already picture the kind of father he will be—patient, loving, and endlessly supportive. “I think you’d be amazing with a little girl,” you say, your voice laced with warmth. “And I don’t doubt that you’re excited. Not for one second.” You learn forward, softly pressing your lips against his in a soft, tender kiss. 

The kiss lingers. Spencer removes his hand from your stomach to instead cup your cheek. When you finally pull back, Spencer’s eyes are sparkling, filled with a mixture of awe and affection. “I can’t wait to watch you become a mom,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to break the magic of the moment. 

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude that he’s chosen this journey with you. “And I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

As the sun continues to rise, bathing the room in warmth and light, you feel an overwhelming sense of hope and love. You lean back into his embrace, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Whatever happens,” you whisper, “we’ll do it together. Always together.”

“Always,” he echoes, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ know no better, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: with your work responsibilities taking you away from long island, you and mat haven't had much time to blow off some steam. his friends, however, are tired of being on the receiving end of mat's "steam" and enlist you to help.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: about half way through the nnn series! i am a diva!mat truther so enjoy. day five of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, oral (male receiving), mat’s a lil grump.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You looked up from your laptop, your eyes scanning the crowded airport lounge. The clacking of keyboards and murmur of distant conversations created a familiar backdrop to your focused silence. You sighed, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you awaited your flight's boarding call. Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up, expecting to see a message from work reminding you of the deadlines that had kept you in Boston for nearly a month. Instead, you found a text from Ethan Bear.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You hadn't spoken to Ethan in ages, not since the last time you and Mat had seen him over the summer. 

The message was simple: "Hey, noticed Mat's been on edge lately?" 

You read it again, a hint of confusion creasing your forehead. Of course, you had noticed. Mat's mood swings were like the tides, but you had just chalked it up to the pressure of his season and your demanding work schedule pushing distance between the two of you. 

You typed back, "He makes it hard not to lol he's prob just stressed with the season. Why?"

Ethan's response was swift and to the point. "It's that dumb No Nut November bet. He's losing his shit like a little bitch. Can you fix him?" 

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. Mat, your six-foot hockey player of a boyfriend, reduced to a grumpy mess over a bet? It was almost endearing in its ridiculousness. But Ethan's concern was clear, and you knew you couldn't ignore it. 

You replied, "I'll see what I can do," with a winking emoji, feeling less than guilty for the amusement that bubbled up inside you.

As you boarded the plane, you couldn't shake the image of Mat, all six feet of brooding masculinity, brought to his knees by his own stubbornness. You chuckled to yourself, imagining the look on his face when you told him you knew about the bet. The flight back to Long Island was a blur of work emails and half-hearted attempts at relaxing, your mind racing with ideas to tease him into dropping this absurd challenge.

When you finally stepped into your apartment, the tension hit you like a wall. Mat's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, and you could hear him muttering under his breath. You set down your bag and called out, "Honey, I'm home!" with a playful lilt in your voice.

Mat appeared around the corner, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and annoyance. "Fucking finally," he grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in an attempt to suppress a smile.

You rolled your eyes, your amusement clear. "What crawled up your ass?" You stepped closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mat sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "You wouldn't understand."

You stepped closer, your curiosity piqued. "Try me."

Mat rolled his eyes, his frustration palpable. "It's just this stupid bet with the guys. I can't believe how much it's messing with my head."

Your smile grew. "Oh, the No Nut November bet? That's what's got you all worked up?" You couldn't resist poking the bear. "You know you can just tell them you can't do it, right?"

Mat's jaw clenched, and he glared at you. "It's not that simple. My pride's on the line."

You chuckled, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Okay, tough guy," you said, your voice gentle and teasing. "But if it's really bothering you, maybe you should just, I don't know, not do it?"

Mat's eyes searched yours for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his gaze. He was torn between his pride and his desire to end the torment. You decided to take matters into your own hands. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I have an idea," you murmured against his skin. "How about I help you relieve some of that tension?"

His eyes widened, and you knew you had his attention. "How?" he asked, his voice gruff with hope.

You stepped closer, your hands sliding down to his chest, your thumbs tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "How about I give you a little something to take your mind off of it?" you suggested, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You saw the spark of interest in his eyes and knew you had him in your grasp.

Mat's expression softened slightly, his eyes flickering with curiosity and a hint of desperation. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his tone cautious.

You smirked. "I could give you a reason to lose the bet?" you offered, your voice laced with playful challenge. You watched as the realization dawned on him, and his eyes grew dark with need.

"Did someone set you up to this?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion, trying to hide his growing excitement.

"Let's just say I have my ways of finding things out," you replied with a wink. You could feel the tension in the room start to ease as Mat's curiosity took over.

Mat looked at you skeptically. "Alright. But if you're just messing with me..."

You giggled, standing on your tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'm not messing with you, baby." Your breath was warm and sweet, sending a shiver down his spine. "I want to help."

Mat stared at you for a moment, trying to gauge your seriousness. He was desperate for relief, and the thought of losing the bet was becoming increasingly more appealing by the second. With a huff, he stepped back, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?"

You took a step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "Well, I was thinking..." you trailed off, your hands moving to the hem of his shirt, "maybe I could help you relax." You began to lift his shirt, your hands gliding over his abs, your manicured nails lightly scraping against his skin. "You know, just a little something to take the edge off."

Mat's resolve was crumbling. The feel of your hands on him was too tempting to resist. He let out a gruff chuckle, trying to maintain his tough exterior. "You're really going to do this?"

Your smile grew mischievous as you continued to lift his shirt, exposing his toned stomach. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your eyes flicking up to meet his. "I think it's only fair that if you're going to be a grumpy mess, I get to enjoy the perks of helping you out."

Mat's arms fell to his sides, his eyes locked on yours as you continued to explore his torso with your fingertips. "And what perks would those be?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with anticipation.

Your smile was sly. "Well," you said, your thumbs grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, "I was thinking I could give you a nice, long, slow release."

Mat's eyes darkened, and he took a sharp intake of breath. "Fuck it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gave in to the passion you had been craving for weeks.

The two of you stumbled into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. You pushed him down onto the bed, your body straddling him. You could feel his heart racing under you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his muscles taut and his eyes filled with a desperate need that made your own pulse quicken.

Mat's hands found the zipper of your jacket, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he tried to get it off of you. You laughed and helped him, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it aside. You leaned in again, your mouth tracing a line of kisses down his neck and chest, feeling his body respond to your touch. His breathing grew ragged, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

As you kissed down his body, you felt the tension in Mat's muscles start to unwind. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew that you were winning the battle against his pride. With a knowing smile, you began to undo the drawstring of his shorts, your eyes focused on his.

"Missed this pretty, perfect dick," you murmured against the fabric of Mat's shorts, your voice muffled and playful. Mat's body tensed in anticipation as you slowly pulled them down, revealing him to your gaze. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and desire.

Mat groaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets. "You're evil, you know that?"

Your eyes gleamed with victory. "Only when it's for your own good," you teased, your fingertips brushing against his arousal. You watched his reaction, his eyes rolling back slightly, raven hair beautifully contrasting the crisp white sheets.

Mat's hand reached up to tug at your hair, urging you closer. "Just do it," he begged, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Pushy," you said, your voice low and soothing. You leaned down, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Mat shivered as you pressed a kiss to the tip, your lips curling into a smug smile at his gasp. You took your time, teasing him with feather-light kisses and gentle strokes, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Mat's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together. "Baby," he ground out, his voice a desperate plea. You conceded and took him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring his taste and the sound of his moans. His hips bucked upwards, and you held him down with a firm hand, keeping the pace at a torturous crawl.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watching the myriad of emotions playing across his face: surprise, pleasure, and a hint of embarrassment at his loss of control. You took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, and he swore, his hands fisting in the sheets. The salty tang of his sweat mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could bring this strong, confident man to the brink of madness with just your mouth.

Mat's thighs tensed beneath you as you increased your pace, your hand pumping in time with your mouth. His breath grew ragged, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. You took him deeper still, your throat tightening around him, the sensation of his impending climax thrumming through your body.

"Shit," Mat groaned, his voice tight with need. "C’mon, babe, I can't..."

You released him slowly. "You can't what, baby?" you whispered, your voice like velvet against his sensitive skin.

His eyes flew open, and he stared at you, desperation warring with the need to maintain his pride. "I'm gonna come, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes gleaming. "Mmm, I know," you said, your voice a sweet taunt. With a devilish smile you held his gaze as you stuck your tongue out, a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. Mat's hips jerked upwards involuntarily, his eyes widening with shock and pleasure.

"You're gonna lose that bet," you whispered, your breath warm against his sensitive skin. Mat's jaw clenched, and he nodded, the fight draining out of him. His hand reached for you, guiding you back down to him. "Good boy," you murmured, your mouth enveloping him again.

Mat's hips began to thrust slightly, his movements growing more urgent. You felt a rush of wetness between your legs, your own desire spiking at the sound of his desperate moans. You tightened your grip, your tongue swiping against the underside of his shaft. His hips bucked harder. With one last, deep suck, you felt him pulse in your mouth, the warmth of his release flooding your mouth.

Mat's body went rigid as he came, his breath hitching in his throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him, and gave his cock one last gentle kiss before sitting back on your heels. You watched him, his chest heaving and eyes glazed over with pleasure.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by your ragged breathing. Then Mat's face contorted into a mix of frustration and relief. "Fuck," he muttered, collapsing back onto the bed. "How bad was I?"

You grinned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Oh, you were pretty bad," you teased, your voice light and playful. "Ethan texted me about it. Said you were being a little bitch."

Mat's face reddened as he buried his face in a pillow, muffling his groan of embarrassment. You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay," you said, your voice gentle. "You're my little bitch."

Mat threw the pillow at you, his laughter joining yours. "Fuck off," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric.

You caught the pillow and tossed it aside, your smile widening. "It's all love, baby," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But seriously, you okay?"

Mat took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I just didn't know it would get to me like this."

Your expression softened, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble that had started to form. "No more dumb bets?" you asked, your voice a gentle reprimand.

Mat sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "No more dumb bets," he agreed, his voice gruff. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole."

Your smile was warm, your thumb continuing to stroke his cheek. "You should probably apologize to Ethan. Whatever you did to him, it's gotta be bad if he's asking for my help."

Mat chuckled, his irritation fading. "I'll text him later, tell him you talked some sense into me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you, the affection in his touch making your heart flutter.

[ab4eva]

‘The Three of Us’

-

Fully co-authored with: @therealslimshakespeare

Thanks to: My incomparable co-author & sweetheart Marina, for being willing to follow this rabbit hole with me and explore this little trio! And for the gorgeous mood board and vibes, I’m obsessed. And to Ashley, for being the best damn cheerleader we could ask for. ♥️

Warnings: All the sex, 18+ only

Word count: 8k

-

Sometimes in Hollywood, magic happens behind the scenes - in a dark corner of Bar Lubitsch or a little poolside bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. Things that are only whispered about in certain circles or sent to Deuxmoi with the stipulation of “anon please.” The blurry flash of a hand, littered with telltale rings, on her Instagram story. The paparazzi photos of a drunken night out before the three of them disappeared into the balmy Los Angeles evening. The fandom set ablaze by rumors as they combed over every sign, every possibility, every look that they took for god’s honest truth. A myth in the making, never confirmed, never denied.

When a ballsy journalist had the gumption to ask Callum about the rumors some months down the road, he just grinned his Cheshire smile and shook his head, the slightest blush hinting at the corners of his already ruddy cheeks.

“Nah, mate, can’t believe everyfing you read in Hollywood, can ya.” A statement, no trace of question in his ice blue eyes as he licked his cherry lips and stared the journalist down, daring them to dig deeper. His heart may have started pounding a little too hard but only he knew that. Nothing belied the steely gaze he turned on the journalist - not a flex in his jaw or a slight blink or the whisper of a breath. Needless to say, that journalist had no desire to go toe-to-toe with all six feet two inches of Chelsea’s finest lad. They let the subject drop, though the air had already been sucked out of the tiny interview room. Callum noted with suppressed glee the way the journalist shifted in their seat uncomfortably, trying to regain the upper hand.

Serves ya right, ya wanker, floated through Cal’s head and it took all his energy to focus his thoughts on the next question being asked of him. Now that the taboo subject had been brought up, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back towards that fateful night, like the breach in a ship’s hull the memories flooded in. The soft give of her flesh beneath his fingers as he dug them into her hips, needing her closer, closer. The salty taste of Austin’s skin on his tongue as he dragged it slowly across his friend’s collarbone, the streak of wetness left behind shimmering in the moonlight. The mingled sighs and shared breaths, overpowering and heady in that dark little bungalow. That was the night he couldn’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It didn’t matter how many books he read or women he kissed or bloody hikes he took in Runyon Canyon, he was always going back to the night when everything changed.

-

“Didn’t I see you at the Luchino Visconti retrospective a couple nights ago? At the Academy?” The very definition of tall, dark and handsome has just walked in the room, smiling down at you and waiting expectantly for your answer. This is Callum Turner, the new client you’re working with for Masters of the Air press (alongside Austin Butler, your regular client and current boyfriend-adjacent…guy. It’s casual, you’re both keeping it casual. For now.).

“Oh! Were you there? Wasn’t it amazing?” you gush, a little flustered.

“It’s kind of rare to meet another Visconti fan. You must be one of the good ones.” He grins at you, all warmth and puppy dog eagerness. A kindred spirit, an instant connection. You would be very charmed by him, if you weren’t already attached to someone else. Who are you kidding, you’re charmed by him anyway. Talking with him comes easily, and the time flies by as you style his hair, moisturize his skin, add a bit of concealer here and there. He’s funny, sweet, intelligent. Austin has told you a bit about him, about his friend who helped him during one of the most confusing times of his life. But this - this is more than you were expecting. He’s more than you were expecting. And you’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. When he asks you out for a drink later, you’re absolutely certain. It is with no small amount of regret that you turn him down.

-

The first time you noticed something akin to a spark between the man you’d casually been dating and his co-star was during press interviews for their new television series, Masters of the Air. As Austin and Callum’s groomer and makeup artist, you were allowed a seat at the back of the room, near the video monitors, ready to jump into action if one of Austin’s curls needed to be twisted back into place or if Callum’s nose got too shiny and needed a bit of powder. You glanced up from your phone to see the two of them leaned so close together their shoulders touched, just barely. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Callum’s mouth looked as if it might graze the shell of Austin’s ear, a smirk playing at the edges, as his dark, curly head bent conspiratorially towards his friend’s blonde one. Silly boys, you thought, smiling to yourself as you watched them. You’d seen that look on Austin’s face before…it was almost one of… adoration.

Without warning your mind flashed back to last night, Austin gazing up at you through your thighs, a look of devotion on his face, his sandy hair ruffled and his eyes slightly dazed. The very same look that he’s now turned on Callum… Nah… You laughed at yourself quietly and shook your head to clear your thoughts, silently scolding yourself. You’d been reading too many spicy novels recently and clearly your imagination was running wild. It made sense that he and Callum were close. Austin had been lost as a newborn calf without a mother after Elvis had wrapped and Masters of the Air had started filming. A brotherhood, that’s what Austin had called it. And Callum had been his right hand man. And that’s all, you were sure. Pretty sure.

-

Bar Lubitsch is dim and noisy, crowded with cast and crew of Masters for an impromptu celebration while so many of them are in town. Austin hasn’t been here in years, always remembered it being a good time. He wants to show you and Callum a good time, after all the hard work you three have been putting in for press the past couple of weeks. That was two hours and three drinks ago, and you watch them now from your perch at the bar and how much they feed each other’s souls, like displaced brothers, reunited after years apart. The evening is starting to shift and blur, so many drinks and people and noise and singing. You never knew Callum loved to sing so much, until he was singing karaoke at the top of his lungs and the whole bar was gathered around the little stage in the back room, jumping to the beat while he sang the most risqué lyrics right to Austin, like they were the only two people in the room:

Even when the cold comes crashing through

I'm putting all my bets on you

I hope they never understand us

I put my heart inside your palms

My home in your arms

Now we know nothing matters

Nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

You’re not sure you’ll ever be over Callum pinching Austin’s cheeks, channeling his inner Egan, and singing right at him with drunken gusto while Austin is too tipsy to remember not to bask in it and it’s probably the cutest, and hottest, thing you’ve ever seen. It’s only afterwards that you start to feel a tiny flicker of jealousy. There’s something between them, a connection that time and distance hasn’t untethered. Later, you drag Austin into one of the faded velvet booths, snuggling up to him as he pulls you into a one-armed embrace, kissing your temple with glassy eyes and a crooked smile. His heady mix of sweat and cologne mingle, along with the alcohol, and suddenly you’re lightheaded. Not to mention the fact that his soft lips have seemed to have move, with lightning speed, from your temple to your neck. You gently push him away, and he gives you a questioning look but you need to see his face when you ask him this.

“Hey…what’s going on with Callum? Because, it’s clearly something? And whatever it is, it’s ok, really it is…but…I do have eyes, Austin,” you blurt out, biting your lip. You see a dozen different emotions cross his features, like a movie playing out in real time - surprise, guilt, defensiveness, longing, acceptance. His face goes all red and he leans his head back, his tan throat open and inviting, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly. It takes everything in you not to kiss him right this second.

“It’s…complicated. Kind of,” he sighs as he stares up at the ceiling and you can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s answer enough for you. You don’t push him further as you quietly turn his mouth to yours and make him forget anything and everyone but you.

-

“Come on Aus, it’ll be just like old times,” Cal goads drunkenly, placing a proprietary hand on Austin’s belly, his words laden with meaning and a hint of pleading. It’s not like he’s missed Austin or anything…not like that. Not that he’d admit anyway, hell no. Couldn’t two dudes have a consensual thing and not be weird about it? It must be liquid courage that made him suggest it aloud. That and the fact Austin keeps looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“Swear you’ll shut up? If I say yes, will you just…chill?” Austin’s eyes are trained on you and it takes everything in him to play it cool, keep a calm head. Cal’s hand is still on Austin’s stomach and he starts to pet him, just above the belt and it makes Austin lurch in sudden need. He licks his lips, they’re suddenly parched, and swallows hard. He hears Cal snicker softly in his ear.

“Now, see, as I recall, you wouldn’t stop asking me to keep sayin’ shit last time.” Callum’s voice floats above the music, scratchy from gin and karaoke, hot breath tickling the shell of Austin’s ear. His hand moves to squeeze Austin’s neck, and if Austin didn’t know any better he’d swear it was a subconscious power move, Callum trying to literally bend Austin to his will. There’s an all too familiar twitch down Austin’s pant leg, and oh god he wishes- he thought, he was so sure, he was past that phase of responding like one of Pavlov’s dogs to Callum’s adoration and teasing.

Maybe it’s just the notion, his suggestion. That’s what’s suddenly making Austin’s blood feel hot and his eyes hazy, it’s the idea of her…and him! But mostly her, just her, and sharing her and- None of that explains the way he wants to bend to that firm hand squeezing in drunken cajoling at the base of his neck, makes him want to knock noses and yank at the stupid collar of Callum’s sweater until there’s collarbones to see and a draft under the wool. This is winter in Los Angeles, heating inside is state of the art, there’s no reason for such coziness and it’s making the man sweat and all Austin can think of from the smell is memories of an English summer, worn out and floating in his own body, biting down on Callum’s upper arm, tangy, sweaty flesh to keep an awfully strange escapade quiet.

That does it. What is he even thinking? He must’ve drank more than he realized but then, oh god, there Cal goes, throwing his hands up in defeat, shrugging his shoulders like a kid caught trying to push his luck. The arm around his shoulder is suddenly gone, and he’d give anything to have it back again. He shakes his head - he really must’ve had too much to drink. It was making him melancholy and sobering him up fast. Funny how alcohol will do that to you.

“Scouts honor, Butler, I’ll-I’ll-I’ll,” he seems to search the ceiling in drunken concentration for the correct wording most likely to open the doors to the kingdom, “I’ll be- it’ll be: HER, YOU and a um, uh mannequin. How ‘bout that, mate? Good enough for ya? You’d probably like that, wouldn’t ya? Ya little freak!” He lands a playful right hook to Austin’s jaw, hard knuckles digging into soft cheeks.

The usually inflammatory epithet of ‘freak’, coming as it does from a man begging for a threesome with himself and his girl, is nothing short of rabidly complementary. Callum’s shit-eating, triumphant grin could light up the whole damn room in this moment. He knows he’s got Austin right where he wants him and starts to count down silently in his head - three…two…

Austin finds himself grinning, a warning, measured thing but a condoning of the sentiment all the same.

“One,” Cal says out loud, his arm going back around Austin’s shoulders, squeezing so hard Austin winces a little. It’s a reflective motion then, done almost without thinking, when Austin slaps Callum’s thigh, not realizing there’s a boner bent down that trouser leg. A wounded hiss leaves Callum’s lips as he caves in on himself a little bit and Austin freezes, his face turning crimson and he feels another twitch down his own trousers.

“Steady on mate,” Callum coughs, shaking a leg, trying to discreetly readjust. “And I thought I was the eager beaver here.” Austin wants to wipe that smirk right off Callum’s smug little face but the moment their eyes meet they can’t help but start to laugh. Giggles, really, which turn into loud guffaws that has the whole bar turning to see what the commotion is about.

Your head whips around at the sound you’ve grown to know well over the past few weeks, the loud and boisterous laughter of two friends who seem forget that anyone else exists when they’re together. You spot them, huddled close as they always seem to be, and shake your head. A grin tugs at your lips and threatens to spill out the feelings fluttering around in your chest, no your stomach, no…somewhere else, lower. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about the two of them…together. Sometimes you’re with them, sometimes you’re not, in these little fantasies of yours. You catch yourself biting your lip and staring at them a little too longingly. You wonder what they’re saying now, both of them look flustered and awkward, just slightly. You can actually feel the tension rolling off of them in waves from where you stand across the bar.

Austin chooses that moment to look up and catch your eye. There’s a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there earlier and what is that look on his face? You’ve never seen it before…shy and almost…guilty? He looks just like a little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Your eyes question him across the dim bar, an unspoken tether ties you together wherever you are, and uncertainty about the deal he’s just struck with Callum comes creeping in. What has gotten into him? He’s just agreed to share you, with another man. And not just any man, one he has a rather interesting history with. The thought of Callum touching you, kissing you, fucking you…suddenly he’s stone cold sober and beginning to regret letting Cal sway his decision. Because there sure as hell won’t be any take backs, not with Callum. He’s like a dog with a bone once he gets what he wants.

-

“Dude no, there’s chemical flavoring in there, that shit’s bad for you and it’ll give her irritation!” Austin looks slightly perturbed, not for the first time this evening. He sways slightly under the florecent lights of the drugstore, the constant buzzing adding to the pounding in his head.

“What if it’s not intended to go on her? Hmm? Thought of that Butler?” Callum murmurs under his breath, his eyes focused solely on the lube he’s holding, a pink blush creeping up his neck to his ears. Has a blush under drugstore fluorescents ever looked so lovely? And Austin hasn’t stopped biting that lower lip since you walked into this place. It hasn’t stopped him from grinning, though, his excitement bubbling through in little ticks and tells, the nervous turning over of the vaseline jar in his large hands.

“You haven’t even bought me dinner Cal, just straight to the flavored lube,” Austin bemoans, faking offense. “’Sides, she’s already sweet enough, aren’t you baby? I’ve had my fair share of licks,” Austin’s shoulder bumps yours as he sends you a smoldering look, his eyes flickering down your body briefly before his cheeks turn a slight rosy color you can see blooming up from his chest through his open shirt collar.

“Austin!” you hiss, slapping his arm playfully and hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed.

“Leave it to you two twig Bettie’s and we’d be down to nothin’ but socks and coconut oil,” Cal snarks, not at all inaccurately.

“I don’t remember you minding coconut oil last time,” Austin says under his breath, clearly meant for Callum’s ears only, but you manage to catch it, and your heart starts to pound at the implied meaning.

“Mmm, and it was bitter so - mojito,” Callum says decidedly, leaving no room for argument. Austin smiles at you, lifting his shoulder in a shrug and rolling his eyes heavenward. You giggle nervously, wondering for the first time just what you’re getting yourself into.

“I saw that! Listen mate, feel free to shut me up at any time. This would do nicely, ya reckon?” Callum lifts a silk sleeping mask with one, long finger and swings it around seductively, waggling his eyebrows up and down comically. You laugh and the butterflies making a home in your ribcage start to settle down again.

-

The whimpers emanating from between your parted lips take you by surprise and you promptly shut your mouth, unexpectedly embarrassed to be mewling so wantonly. You bite your lip as it becomes harder and harder to hold them in with every slow thrust of Austin’s velvety cock filling you, his swollen tip hitting just the right spot, and every flick of Callum’s tongue as he laves at your tender little clit with vigor. You feel Austin tense slightly beneath you as Cal swirls his tongue down to your opening to lap at where you and Austin join, sloppy and wet. A soft moan floats past your left ear, Austin’s hot breath sending a shiver through you, and it seems to invigorate Callum as he doubles down on his efforts to have his tongue cover as much surface area as possible. He chuckles and it jolts through you as your back arches, your fingers finding his dark curls and yanking him closer, demanding something you aren’t even aware of. He understands what you need even if you don’t and as his lips close around your sensitive bud you can no longer keep quiet, keening softly. You practically buck off of Austin’s lap and his arm tightens around your waist to keep you in place. The harder Callum sucks, the more Austin starts to whine - you’ve gotten so tight around him he can hardly thrust.

“Oh fuck, what’re you doing? Cal…what��” you slur as you pull at his hair, trying to dislodge him from your clit. You feel him grin against your heat as he slowly slips two fingers in you, resting them alongside Austin’s length. You hiss at the stretch and Austin starts to pick up his pace again. Your head is too hazy with pleasure to register fully what is happening as Callum gently slides another finger in next to the first two. His mouth works your clit, sucking and pulling, harder then soft again.

“More…more more more,” you beg hoarsely. You feel as if you might fly away and the only thing anchoring you to earth are these two men and their hands and their mouths on your body. Callum cocks an eyebrow at you and his eyes shift to Austin. You feel him nod, barely, and then another burning stretch as Cal slips his pinkie in next to his other fingers. It drives you insane and you feel yourself clenching and coming, harder than you can ever remember. You stop breathing for a moment, your mind going numb with rapture as you come apart at the seams.

“Oh fuck,” Austin whispers, biting your shoulder, his hand absentmindedly palming your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple. “Come on baby, I know you’ve got more, give us another one. Cal, can’t thrust with you in there…give me some room, huh?”

Callum let’s go of your clit with a wet pop and gently slides his fingers out. His nose and chin are shiny with your juices, even his eyebrows look a little damp and he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Go on then, Butler, show us what you got.” He stands, knees popping as he does. From up here he can see your faces clearly, yours and Austin’s. He watches, rapt, as Austin nuzzles your neck, nipping at your earlobe as he speeds up his thrusts, toying with your nipples mercilessly. Your eyes flutter closed and your head drops back onto his shoulder. Callum shakes his head, dazed and pussy drunk - why was he on his knees so long?? He coulda been watching this the whole time? But he knows why- fresh, homegrown pussy. And he means to have his fill. He can’t take being on the sidelines, watching Austin move in and out of you at a punishing pace, having all the fun. One of Callum’s massive palms descends onto your clit, slapping and rubbing cruelly, back and forth, faster and faster. And then you’re gushing everywhere, all over Callum’s hand and Austin’s cock and the bed, soaking everything.

“Come on then girl, give us all you’ve got,” Cal encourages, his raspy voice driven to the point of hoarseness. He grabs his painfully hard, throbbing cock and roughly starts to slap your clit. You gasp, jerking in Austin’s arms as you fall apart again. And then Callum gets a thought, because his dick is doing most of the thinking just now, and it’s been sadly neglected thus far. He’s just had four fingers in you and now you’re literally flinging droplets with each swipe, it’s a goddamn swamp down there it’s so wet. He slows his slaps and starts to rub soft circles against your clit, stopping every once in a while to try your entrance gently, just to see. You moan breathlessly and his heart speeds up as he looks at Austin questioningly.

“I recognize that gleam in your eye, Turner…spit it out,” Austin says in a slightly strangled voice.

“Think you can take us both, angel? At the same time?” Callum directs his question to you, ignoring Austin.

You can’t take your poor abused clit getting ground on anymore, it’s just too intense, anything to give it a break. You nod your head so fast he thinks it might fly off. Your trembling little hand reaches down with disjointed begs of “Put it in baby, put it, please Cal, it’s burning.”

Your sloppy wet pussy hole visibly clenches with a tiny space of room left each time Austin digs in. Callum drunkenly wonders if they should have a medical professional on standby for this sorta shit, like it’s gotta be a crime to wedge two boys into a girl, especially when Butler’s packing like that. But your whine suggests you need it and he’d really like to not be left out. FOMO -that’s what he’ll blame when he’s driving the ambulance or else coming down from the craziest high he’s ever had with a pool of cum drying on his belly.

Austin goes still as a statue under you and drags your sweaty hair across to the other shoulder so he can really see your face and ask, “You sure? Baby, talk to me, you really wanna try?” His hand gently grips your chin, forcing you to focus on his eyes, his question.

“I’ll die if I don’t have you both,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper, but Austin still looks concerned and slightly perturbed. Is the girl he knows even in there? But you want something, you want this and he’ll be dammed if he doesn’t give you anything you want that’s within his power to give. And if there’s one thing he loves about you it’s your love of a challenge. He bites his cheek, trying not to blow his load over your sweet determination.

“Ok ok.” Austin takes a deep, steadying breath, kissing your wet temple and gives Callum a very familiar look of admonishment and also trust in his good intentions. “Careful, man, really careful,” he instructs as Callum nods his silent assent.

“No safe words, just if somebody says stop we stop, ok?” Austin’s starting to pant, as he can feel the poofy mushroom head of Cal’s cock brushing his sack at your entrance. “Anybody who says stop,” he clarifies, half thinking he might be the first to wimp out and do it.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Cal actually looks sober as fuck except for the sheen of sweat that always seems to come with his pints and somehow the eye contact he makes lights a fire in Austin’s belly.

“I might say no,” you squeak, “I won’t mean it though, just a heads up. I’ll say stop- if I need to stop.”

“No?” Cal laughs nervously. “That might make me feel a little…bad,” he admits, still rubbing maddening circles around where Austin’s been practically cockwarming you for ages.

“Stop getting all existential and give her what she wants, man,” Austin rebuts.

“It’ll make me feel bad if she says no,” Cal blurts, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Then I’ll do it.” Austin’s voice is rough in your ear and your nipples harden into peaks as he gently pulls out of you and pats the bed. “Tell Cal to lay his big ass self down.”

You giggle as Callum dives onto the bed, bouncing for a moment until he settles, turning over onto his back, head propped on a lazy forearm. He pats his meaty thighs and you roll your eyes but can’t deny the flip flop your stomach does at the thought of those thighs and what a nice cradle they’ll make while you’re railed within an inch of you’re life. And then you’re hovering over him, Cal kneading your hip encouragingly while running an admiring hand up and down your spine, like you’re a skittish horse in need of calming. You hesitate, momentarily unsure, but Austin nods at you reassuringly from the foot of the bed and ever the gentleman, gives you his hands to hold as you sink slowly down on Callum. Though his gentlemanly hands are gripping yours tightly, his eyes are glued to your pussy taking every inch of uncut Brit cock that he’s maybe gagged on once.

“Earth to Butler!” comes from behind you because Austin’s zoned out a little and it’s been a hot minute and you’re somewhat situated now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, uh, ok, ok…”

Cal snickers before crunching up behind you, his chest hot against your back as he wraps his arms around you. “You feel lovely, darlin’, wanna lay back wif’ me? Don’t mind him, he’s lost it. Always goes a bit soft in the head around a pretty pussy or my cock.”

It’s a lot from this position and laying back against Callum’s chest is intense. You feel like he’s fully in your belly and it stretches your womb over him. He feels different…his isn’t as wet as Austin’s little water fountain but it throbs more noticeably, sending little shocks of pleasure through you. Cal pets your belly soothingly and spreads your pussy lips for Austin to really get a look at. You whine and squirm, realizing again the want for more. Those fingers dabbling at your entrance, threatening to push inside you once more and that’s when Austin breaks, recalling that’s what he and his cock are here for.

“Yeah, ok, ok, present and accounted for. Move your hand,” he murmurs, swiping Cal’s hand away. He thumbs at you himself for a bit, just to be sure and to watch as Cal loses his cool facade for a second when you clench tightly around him.

“Still sure about this, baby?” He asks one more time as he’s pressing at the ring and the burn has you bracing. You feel Cal’s hand move from your waist to your thigh, behind your knee, cupping it and dragging it wide, spreading you apart before you’ve even said your piece. The vote of confidence does you good and you take a deep breath, nodding once, decisively.

“Then put me in, angel,” Austin tells you, fat cockhead already snagged in but there’s a little ripple in his hard cock from the resistance of the tight space. Steeling yourself, you reach down and wrap your fingers around him, tugging him closer and slowly feeding his thickness into you alongside Cal’s, who starts thrashing his head and moaning at the drag like he’s the one getting breached.

“Good girl, good girl, please more…know you can take more.” Cal’s begging for cock by proxy and it alters your brain somehow. Austin’s too, he puts his hips into the effort and soon he’s gotten past the muscles at your command and into the threshold where you can’t manage to push him out if you tried. It makes you panic a little, but Cal is softly shushing in your ear, a distracting thumb stroking behind your knee, other freckled hand mauling a tit and begging you to take more cock so he can get friction.

“She can take it, come on, Austin,” he vouches for you, a little self promotion as you can’t even form words right now. Somewhere about six inches in your vocabulary consists of yelped little “fuck’s”and whimpering “I cant’s”.

Austin caresses your cheek, commanding you to look at him, his blue eyes focused in on yours, “That’s it baby, just a little more. You’re doing so good for us… such a good girl.”

Callum grab’s Austin’s shoulder and brings him fully deeper, which is all well and good when Austin kisses your forehead and insists raggedly, “You are doing it, baby.”

When he finally pushes in that last little bit, you lose any control you thought you had, instantly coming from the stretch and threatening to push Austin out. But he presses nothing less than his full weight on you, keeping you in place and himself snug inside next to Callum. You gasp for air and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. Austin tries to remember to breathe and promptly forgets how when he makes eye contact with Callum for the first time since being balls deep.

“Are you -is that you…twitching?”

“Woulda thought you’d remember that,” Callum smirks. “Coulda sworn I recall you saying something about it jumping like a live wire in your hand?”

“Christ, well it feels different all…snuggled up next to mine,” Austin grits out, coloring slightly.

After a moment or two, when breath has been regained and a few laughs shared and some semblance of sanity restored in right spaces, Cal starts to pepper every inch of your neck and cheeks in kisses. Now that he’s not so desperate he’s become utterly grateful for you, for this. The kisses turn into sloppy, wet groans in your ear as Austin begins to move and Cal’s hand is gripping your jaw, his eyes locked on Austin, your legs thrown wide over his thighs, spread to the max and he’s a perfect recliner. He throws his other arm across your chest in a loving armbar, holding you still on top of him, “So Butler can get a rhythm, baby.”

Austin looms above you both, finding his pace, measured and steady. His beautiful face is flushed full of awe and there’s a heat in his gaze you’ve never seen before. He puts his hand on Callum’s shoulder for leverage, long fingers digging into freckled flesh and Cal promptly lays a little smooch on Austin’s forearm with a cheeky grin. Austin’s eyes shift and change, become a deeper blue and an expression you can’t read flits across his face as he jabs a particularly hard thrust into you. Callum starts to whimper and squirm when he realizes Austin’s thrusts are rubbing him too well, and it's not just you who’s getting their spot hit - that spot being his foreskin being drug back and forth in maddening little drags.

“Y’all like that? Feel good?” Austin growls lowly, rhythmic thrusts pushing you and Callum deeper into the fluffy white sheets, both of your whimpers combining until you can’t tell who they belong to. Austin groans and drives in harder, his white knuckles gripping Callum’s shoulder hard, while he reserves his tenderest touch for you, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your cheek.

“You’re…enjoying this…” you manage to moan between thrusts. His face splits into a grin as he pushes all the way in, pausing for a moment to kiss you hard, all tongues and teeth and desperation.

“Oh, fuck mate, that’s so good. Oh my god,” Callum babbles. “Right there, fuck, right there. You feel so good.”

“Which one, baby girl? Me or her?” Austin smirks.

For once, Callum has no witty response except the heavy panting in your ear. He squeezes your waist harder and his fingernails indent your hip and it gives you something else to focus on while you catch your breath, a tiny escape from the mind-blowing ecstasy you feel and the slight alarm bells ringing in your head. You can feel Callum somehow expanding and growing inside of you, even bigger than he was before. Austin’s eyes go wide and a look of panic crosses his face - his perfect pink mouth forms a perfect “o”.

“Oh shit, what…why is everything so fucking tight again…what is happening,” Austin groans breathlessly, his mouth set in a determined line, teeth ground together so hard you worry momentarily he might break a tooth. He tightens his grip on Callum’s shoulder and Cal’s massive hand encircles Austin’s delicate wrist, knuckles white as he holds on for dear life.

“Faster…faster,” Cal begs, again and again. “Sorry no, mate it’s, it’s fuckin’ happenin’…oh fuck.” His head cranes forward and you can feel his belly and hips flexing beneath you as he tenses over and over, letting out a hoarse sort of howl as he comes. His warmth fills you and it shakes something loose in your head, your own stomach starting to clench as you grab a handful of Austin’s golden hair, urging him on. Callum’s hands are all over you, petting you everywhere as he starts to come down.

“S’ok I came in ya? Yeah? Good, ‘cause I did,” he whispers hoarsely with a remorseful little laugh, back to babbling to you now that Austin’s got him there. He wipes the sweaty hair from your forehead, tucking a piece of it behind your ear and kisses your neck, whispering encouraging words, “That’s it, babe, give us another one.”

Cal’s bitten off little whimpers spur you on, as his soft cock is trapped in there too, getting pummeled. He’s trying to focus on you, with little pets and murmurs of encouragement but you feel his jaw clench as he grits his teeth, taking the pounding Austin is giving the both of you.

“Got me feelin’ like a proper woman, squealin’ n’ shit, Aus.”

You feel another orgasm build and shake through you, one of the many countless times you’ve fallen apart tonight, but this one stands out. It would bring you to your knees if you were unlucky enough to be standing at this moment. You’re sure it has something to do with knowing you’re satisfying two men at once, Callum having found his release and Austin being close to his. You can tell he’s on the verge by the little signs you’ve grown to recognize over the course of your relationship. The way his forehead creases in between his brows - you’ve kissed it away a dozen times in the heat of the moment. The way his pulse beats on the side of his neck, his vein there popping out and becoming more prominent. The short little huffs of breath he inhales, in quick succession - one, two, three, bam, bam, bam, like three shots straight to your heart. It’s your turn to take care of him, the last one standing after he made sure you and Cal got yours.

“Your turn, baby,” you whisper, pulling his forehead down to meet yours, thumbing at the hollows of his cheeks as he begins to tremble and his thrusts turn sloppy. He kisses you again, sucking on your tongue before moving to latch onto your neck. Cal wraps a hand around Austin’s throat, pushing his head back and squeezing just enough for his eyes to widen and his mouth to pop open. His blue eyes darken and you think he’s going to put his mouth on you again, but he bypasses you and goes straight for Callum’s collarbone, his perfect, white teeth sinking into Callum’s lovely English skin and biting down, hard. Cal yelps but doesn’t let go of Austin’s neck, and that’s when you feel it, your belly filled with warmth again as Austin pulses and twitches inside you, a stuttered moan muffled into the crook of Callum’s shoulder. He collapses on top of you and Callum, completely and utterly spent, the three of you breathing heavily and unable to move for a few moments. You squirm a tiny bit, trying to take a deep breath with one man plastered to your front and another to your back.

Austin gets the hint and lifts himself back up on shaky arms, slipping out of you with a squelch. You gasp one final time, at the sudden loss of him, and a cold emptiness is left where he once filled you to the brim, almost to breaking. The coldness is replaced quickly by a gushing warmth spilling out of you. You feel Callum suck in a breath, his broad chest expanding beneath you, his right arm still wrapped tightly around your chest.

“Christ, it’s running down my balls,” he wheezes out, taking another shuddering breath.

Austin braces himself against the headboard and slowly disentangles himself, flopping limply beside you on the bed. He looks at you and Cal still entwined, his eyes moving from both of your faces flushed with heat, down to Callum’s arm still tightly wrapped around you, one large, meaty hand gripping your breast, his middle finger absentmindedly pressing the sensitive bud of your nipple down. Austin sucks in breath after breath, and his eyes travel lower, to your legs still splayed wide over Callum’s sturdy thighs, his softening cock still nestled deep inside you, the spend of both men slowly dripping out of you. A sudden flash of possessiveness roars through him - for you, for Callum. For the sacred thing he has with both of you. His face goes numb and his ears start to ring. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“What is it, Aus?” you whisper, stretching out a hand to him. He looks forlorn, alone on the other side of the bed, his vulnerable face a mix of emotions crashing together all at once, lost and unsure, the gravity of everything settling on his shoulders like a blanket.

“Come back to us.” Your fingertips barely reach to brush his bronzed chest, the little blonde hairs soft against your skin. “Please.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and crawls back over, wrapping his arms around you both and collapsing on top of you again. You’re hilariously squished in the middle of a bear hug now, both men squeezing with all their might, a strange show of masculinity to mask true feelings.

“I can’t breathe….” you manage between giggles. Callum lets out a soft chuckle in your ear, his breath warm against your cheek as his arm shifts beneath you. He digs his fingers into Austin’s armpit and wiggles them around none too gently. Austin bucks against you and squeaks out an uncharacteristically high laugh, trying to squirm out of Cal’s grasp, but it’s too strong and Austin’s body feels like jelly just now.

“Hey! Hey hey, no fair…you know I hate… being… tickled…” Austin grunts out, trying desperately to writhe out of this strange embrace.

-

Bright, cheerful sunshine spills onto the hotel room floor and across the bed, where it has no right to be at this ungodly hour. It shines in unabashedly, through drapes you forgot to close properly in all of your horny desperation. A little sliver of verdant green Hollywood hills is the only signal from the outside world. In here, somewhere between sleeping and waking, in that hazy early morning dreamland, you register Austin tucked up close behind you, his knees pushing the backs of yours and his warm, heavy arm slung over your waist. This is how you wake up every morning and you scoot your bottom back, into the cradle of his hips, momentarily unaware of the pulverization of your insides. But scenes from last night play out like a clip reel inside your head almost as soon as you’re conscious. You squeeze your eyes tight, refusing to give the sun its due. You stretch your legs gingerly, wiggling your toes against Austin’s, and take stock of things. There’s the obvious ache between your legs - more of a throbbing fire, if the truth is to be told. Your nipples seem to remember the previous evening’s activities as well because they immediately harden and stand at attention. And you can’t feel them yet but you’re pretty sure you have a few bruises, too. Ah well, you think as you yawn lazily, that’s what makeup is for.

You blink one eye open (it’s so bright in here!) and the first thing you encounter is a massive arm right next to your nose, tiny, golden hairs glinting in the sunlight. The second thing you see is Cal, on his belly and sans sheets or clothes, his lush and muscular bottom swelling above the white duvet beneath him. His adorable face is pressed into the pillow next to yours, dark curls swirling across his forehead and day’s worth of stubble dots his jaw. He feels your eyes on him, he’s only been snoozing for a bit, waiting for you two to wake up. He cracks one bright, blue eye open and stares back at you a moment. He senses a rush of what he feels everytime he sees you but this time it’s magnified by endearment and gratitude. Then, his face lights up, still smushed into the pillow and a massive, squinty grin splits his face. Your heart gives a funny little leap inside your chest and you find that your fingers are caressing his cheek softly, of their own volition and you resist the urge to kiss the little freckle under his mouth. He grabs your hand and kisses your fingertips, holding them to his warm lips as he smiles. And suddenly, any worry about things being weird has evaporated, as has any possibility of him being a third wheel. He just belongs.

“Hey! Quit making goo-goo eyes at my girl.” Austin’s gravelly morning voice rumbles from behind you playfully, and quick as lightning the arm still draped around your waist reaches over and smacks Callum’s ass, hard. The slap echoes around the room and you see the pale flesh of his bottom bounce and reverberate with the force of it. Cal, and his red, pillow creased face, jolts forward, yelling and jerking in the sheets, which in turn rubs his raw cock. This causes a chain reaction of events which results in him immediately pulling a sore muscle and flopping back down on the bed, moaning and rubbing his reddening backside.

“No fair, bruv,” he groans into the pillow. “That was too fuckin’ close to my balls.”

Austin chuckles and swats your ass gently for good measure. Slowly, everyone starts to shift and stir. First there are whines about soreness and muscles. Then about how sticky it all is. Then about who’s gonna order room service - but more pressingly, who’s gonna walk to the mini bar and grab a water. And then there’s an argument about who’s voice is less hoarse to call for the food - this ends up being you, hilariously. Then there’s moaning arguments about who is intact enough to wobble to the door and tip the server. In between massive amounts of doting and fretting over you, obviously. The boys are ever attentive, fluffing your pillows and making sure you’re comfortable while they feed you omelets and sausage and pancakes until your energy is restored. Over breakfast in bed, the arguments continue about who’s more bruised up - there’s a nasty bite mark on Cal’s collarbone but the fingerprints around Austin’s neck are a fair rival. There’s a panicked and very male discussion about emergency rooms when you admit you can barely move. But you manage to convince them that a nice, hot soak in the tub would do you wonders right about now. So Austin goes to draw you a bath while Callum helps you out of bed, wrapping a protective arm around your waist, and guiding you to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later you’re starting to feel somewhat restored and a little more like yourself. The boys take turns showering, getting ready for the screening event later today. They go about it quietly though, almost reverently, leaving you to relax in peace. You turn the hot water on again, you’ve soaked so long it’s turning tepid but you’re not ready to relinquish this luxury. You ask Austin to bring you your makeup kit, eying the marks on both of them that need covering up. First Austin, then Callum, one after the other they kneel beside the tub in only their dress pants, chest and feet still bare. There are bruises and hickies and bite marks on clavicles and necks and wrists. Poor Callum, with his delicate, reactionary British skin has what looks like beard burn over half his chest and up the side of his throat. You turn sideways in the fancy clawfoot bathtub, gingerly dabbing concealer here and there, doing the best you can to cover up any evidence of last night's revels. Austin sits patiently, a towel underneath his knees to buffer the hard tile floor, and watches you with his kind, enigmatic ocean eyes. They’re distracting, those eyes, as they watch your face, every blink and every smile.

“What is it, Aus? Something on your mind?” you finally murmur, unable to take such naked contemplation any longer.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He smooths the hair back from your forehead, rubbing a silky piece between his fingers. “I’m so lucky.”

Callum slouches against the doorway and lets out a quiet hum. “I think you mean we’re lucky, mate. The three of us.”

-

The Three of Us: Brat Behavior (part 2)

The Three of Us - Masterlist

-

Tagging some Austin & Callum lovers I know: @jelliedonut @crazymadpassionatelove @elvisabutler @slowsweetlove @stylespresleyhearted @steph-speaks @blurredcolour @pearlparty

[sturniphone]

── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ bunny makes matt kiss all her plushies before he's allowed cuddles ❜

Matt’s already in his sleep shirt, glasses pushed up his nose, hair still damp from the shower. He’s trying to climb into bed beside you, but you’re curled up against your plush mountain, arms crossed, nose in the air. ❝Nope,❞ you say, smug and sparkly-eyed. ❝You can’t get in until you do it.❞ He blinks, caught off guard. ❝Do what, bunny?❞

You gesture dramatically to the ten or so plushies arranged across your pillows – Sanrio ones, a bunny Labubu, a sleepy frog with a heart on its belly, a little pink Miffy with a velvet bow, and that one soft, faded bear with the crooked ribbon you’ve had since you were six. ❝You hurt all their feelings too,❞ you pout, eyes wide with theatrical sadness. ❝You didn’t say goodnight to anyone.❞

Matt groans—more out of love than actual resistance. He drags a hand down his face, sighing like he’s being tasked with something impossible, but he’s already melting. Because how could he not? He crouches down at the edge of the bed, strong arms, stubbled jaw, and all, and solemnly picks up each plush with the care of a man tucking in real children.

❝Goodnight, Miss Strawberry Melody,❞ he mumbles, kissing the My Melody plush on her fuzzy forehead. ❝You look lovely in your little fruit bonnet.❞ You suppress a squeal behind your palms, eyes gleaming. Next, the frog. ❝Sir Hops-a-Lot, sweet dreams. Don’t let Bunny hog the blanket again.❞ You giggle, kicking your feet under the covers.

He moves on to the pink bear. ❝Mister Honeybuns, you’re in charge tonight. No monkey business.❞ He gives the bear’s crooked bow a little pat. The Labubu gets a solemn nod. ❝Little Forest Gremlin, protect the dream realm.❞ He keeps going: PomPomPurin with his little beret, a sparkly Kuromi, a plush of Cinnamoroll shaped like a cloud, and even the silly birthday monkey you won at the arcade last month.

Finally, he kisses the last plush: a sleepy brown bear in pink pyjamas, squished between your pillows. ❝Sleep tight, Princess Snugglebum. You’ve always been my favourite.❞ You cover your face, cackling. ❝Matt! That’s not her name!❞ ❝It is now,❞ he shrugs, eyes twinkling. You sigh, loud and royal. ❝Fine. You may now enter.❞ You scoot over dramatically, patting the spot beside you like you’re royalty granting an audience.

Matt slides in with a huff of relief, instantly pulling you into his arms. His hand finds your waist under the blanket, palm warm, thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin. ❝You’re lucky you’re cute,❞ he murmurs into your hair, voice all sleep-soft and smug.

You hum against his chest, tucking your leg between his. ❝You’re lucky you’re forgiven.❞ His hand curls tighter around you. The room is quiet but not silent—the soft rustle of blankets, the steady hum of the night air, and the faint jingle of a bell on one of your plushies when you shift.

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead, one last little apology in the language of quiet affection. ❝Thanks for making up with me, Bunny,❞ he whispers. You yawn into his shirt. ❝Just don’t forget them again. They have feelings too.❞ He chuckles, brushing your hair back with gentle fingers. ❝Noted. We’ll say goodnight together tomorrow. Deal?❞

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, heart full. Surrounded by stuffed animals and warm arms, you drift off knowing you're loved, you’re safe, and every single plushie got their kiss goodnight.

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . I luv this !!! ty

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274

⌗ © sturniphone

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x Variants!reader imagine

As requested <33333

It had been a few months since the Invincible War, and Mark was finally starting to feel like things were settling down. The nightmares had lessened, the world was slowly recovering, and for once, he felt like he could breathe. That peace, however, was short-lived.

Because now, he had a whole new problem. You. Well, multiple yous.

The first one had shown up out of nowhere, confused and disoriented but seemingly harmless. The second had arrived only a few hours later. Then the third. By the time the GDA realized what was happening, there were six variants of you, all from different dimensions, all equally shocked to be here. And, worst of all? They only wanted to stay with Mark.

It wasn’t even up for discussion. The GDA had tried separating them, offering different accommodations, but every single one had the same response:

“No thanks, I’ll stay with Mark.”

Mark was losing his mind.

“Are you serious?” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the multiple versions of his girlfriend sitting comfortably in the GDA containment facility.

One of them grinned. “Aw, babe, don’t sound so upset.”

“I—I’m not your babe!” Mark spluttered, pointing an accusing finger at her. He turned to you, his actual girlfriend, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watching this unfold with barely contained amusement. “Can you say something here?”

You shrugged, smiling. “They’re me, Mark. I think it’s sweet that they like you so much.”

One of the variants—the one wearing a slightly different outfit than yours—sighed dramatically. “Like? Like is an understatement, sweetheart.” She turned to Mark, propping her chin in her hands. “Have you seen yourself? If I was thrown into a different universe and you were here, I’d stick to you like glue too.”

Another variant nodded. “Same. No way I’m letting this prime piece of Viltrumite ass out of my sight.”

Mark choked.

You bit your lip, hard, trying to suppress a laugh.

“You—you can’t just say things like that!” Mark spluttered, his face turning a deep shade of red.

One of the variants smirked. “Why not? I mean, it’s true. Have you looked in a mirror?”

“I—That’s not the point!”

From that moment on, Mark knew he was doomed.

The GDA eventually gave up on trying to separate them. Until they found a way to send them back to their respective dimensions, they were on lockdown, and Mark—along with you—had been assigned to keep an eye on them.

Which was easier said than done.

Because Mark couldn’t catch a break.

Everywhere he went, they followed. And worse? They flirted relentlessly.

“Mark, honey, you look so tense.” One of them leaned against his shoulder, tracing a finger down his arm. “I could give you a massage if you want~.”

He jumped away like he’d been burned. “NO.”

Another giggled. “You don’t have to be so shy. We’re all technically the same person—so really, it’s not that weird.”

“It is absolutely that weird!”

You? Oh, you were having the time of your life watching him suffer.

Sitting on the couch, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling as Mark shot you a helpless look.

“You could help me, you know,” he grumbled, arms crossed as he tried to keep some distance between him and his rapidly growing harem of you.

You shrugged, barely holding in your laughter. “And miss this? No way.”

The variants giggled, and Mark swore he could feel his soul leaving his body.

Things only got worse as the days passed.

The variants knew he was flustered by their attention, and they leaned into it hard.

One whispered in his ear, voice dripping with mischief, “You know, if you ever wanted to see what it’s like to have two of me at once—”

Mark walked out of the room immediately.

You cried laughing.

Every day was like this. Every day, Mark suffered through compliments, teasing, and not-so-subtle attempts at seduction, all while you sat back and watched the chaos unfold.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he was kind of getting used to it.

The variants, despite their relentless flirting, were still you. They were kind, funny, and weirdly protective over him—if anyone so much as looked at Mark wrong, they’d be ready to throw hands, much to his horror.

But they never stopped teasing him.

And honestly? You weren’t sure if Mark would survive until the GDA found a way to send them home.

[joocomics]

fright night

pairing: bf!hueningkai x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 1.3k words

✎… established relationship, sub!reader, unprotected sex, dirty talk, headlock, pet names, orgasm delay

( txt masterlist )

“I’d kill for you.”

Kai takes your face in his hand and guides your neck backwards to inspect your gaze better; to dive into it even deeper. It’s just as compelling as your voice is right now. Seductive like an invitation.

“What are you talking about?” He suppresses a soft chuckle, but you still manage to catch it despite his attempts that cause his cheeks to warm up.

You stay kneeling on the floor as his thumb glides against your jawline with affection.

“I would if I had to,” you reassure him while an urge to spread his thighs wider as he’s sat on the bed lingers inside you. “I’m ready to do all kinds of vile things for you, Kai.”

The two of you lock eyes then Kai’s lips separate for a discreet sigh as your tongue sneaks out from your mouth - just enough to invite his thumb inside.

“This freakin’ movie brainwashed you.” He smiles amused, but no matter if he tries or not, he cannot hide the reactions his body goes through right now. It’s always so nice and warm between the inner sides of your hollowed cheeks.

The horror movie that’s still playing on the TV is reaching its horrific climax, but you’re both too focused on one another to look at the screen.

Despite being together for six months now, Kai still finds himself losing composure from the smallest things you do. It seems like instead of getting used to your tactics he becomes more vulnerable to them; it’s only getting harder to resist you every time. Especially when your face becomes even prettier once contorted by desperation.

His head drops down as your teasing hands make their way up his thighs, but seconds later he looks back at you again, because you finally speak up to disagree.

“It did not brainwash me, it made me realise I would do anything for you.”

“I’d do anything for you too, baby.” He leans lower to press lips against yours - gently, but the tension building in the room, influenced both by your feelings and the eerie sounds in the background, quickly turns it into open mouthed kissing that takes your breath away. He takes his time to detach himself so he can murmur closely at your lips: “But I think you’ve had enough watching for the day.”

Your breathing almost slows down as you watch him lay on his back. You waste no time in straddling his lap with fingers clenching desperately at his plain black shirt as if they’re about to rip it off his chest.

“What’s going on inside your pretty little brain, huh?” Your boyfriend snickers softly and his sensual eyes sparkle alluringly with a mixture of lust and curiosity. “Is it what I think it is?”

You nod with lip tucked between your teeth.

A warm wave rises in your body as you grind against his growing bulge and the thrill has you humming in response; until his strong hands grip on your butt cheeks and the rough sinking of his fingertips makes you moan right after.

“Should we do something about it?” He asks and because his tone goes lower than usual for the first time in a few minutes you actually acknowledge the creepy sounds spreading around you.

You strip off your clothes meanwhile Kai tugs down his sweatpants just enough to pull out his erection.

The gore scenes cannot distract nor steal his attention anymore; not when your curves are appealingly illuminated by their colors and your boobs are hypnotising him with their bouncing movements; and your mewls… they elevate from the rush and shake every time his cock reaches that special spot inside you, successfully overpowering each scream that comes from the speakers as you jump up and down.

“Oh, yeah, baby—“ Kai’s moans keep dripping from his tongue. “Just like that, yeah…” His body stills restful, but there’s fire bubbling beneath his skin as your walls glide against his slick length.

With each landing onto his lap you’re squeezing harder and harder than before; your fists gripping on his shirt are also tightening at the same moment as your knees go weaker.

“Keep it going, baby, c’mon.” Kai sighs, watching you slow down sloppily. His hand smacks your hip once, then twice as a sign of encouragement.

You’re trying to maintain the quick rhythm, you are, but you’re out of breath, unsteady and with trembling muscles that keep twitching, anticipating that familiar sweet relief.

“I’m so close—“ you whine with hand sliding down to your clit, but Kai pulls it away before you could reach it.

Your dazed eyes meet only for a second before he swiftly switches positions, not giving you any chance to realise what's happening.

You're suddenly facing the TV as your powerless knees sink into the mattress. There's a spine-chilling scene unfolding in front of your gaze, but your attention shifts to the side as Kai's hands restrain yours behind your back.

“I’m close too, baby,” he coos at your ear meanwhine his cock wastes no time in slipping back inside you. “You feel so good, God—“

The shakiness in your voice resumes as Kai picks up the pace the second he straightens his back. To keep you more steady his fingers go up, wrapping around your arms instead. There's a slight pain coming from his tight grip, but seeing him lose himself completely in the pleasure like this is far too exciting for you to care about that.

Multiple yes-es fly out of your mouth that bring a temporary smirk on Kai's face before his features scrunch up from concentration again.

“My pretty girl,” he breathes out with tension in his tone; his eyes stay fixated upon the way his length disappears inside you. “So needy to cum...”

The drastic change in speed along with the new stronger way Kai's tip hits repeatedly at your g-spot doubles the amount of sweat across your skin. The lewd sounds emerging from the smacking of your bodies and from your open mouths blend with the background noise of the dimly lit room.

“Baby!” The sudden high pitch in your voice results into Kai pulling you to his chest; as if it was some sort of a command he needed to submit to. His heart is thumping against your back as one of his toned arms goes around your shoulders, pressing beneath your chin. But that pressure, too, makes you greedy for more. “Harder, baby, please—“

In this heady state Kai is only able to respond with a single rushed groan before fulfiling your wish by pushing you down.

You’re always amazed at how he can sound rough and tender all at the same time.

Because of your placement on the end of the bed, your head now hangs low in the air as your boyfriend's hips slam against your behind. You put all efforts you possibly can to keep your lower half slightly raised so he can maintain the good angle while his hands are back to gripping your arms for better control.

Your vision turns blurry from the magnifying pleasure and just a short moment later, full of Kai's vigorous thrusting, your mind goes blank as the pressure settled low in your core finally bursts.

Luckily, you're facing the ground and you won't see any of the horrors on the TV screen in case you open your eyes by any chance; which you don't, because as you come down from your high, Kai continues to fuck you though a bit sloppily since he's seconds away from pushing himself over the edge too.

On the other hand, he could care less if he's going to see anything or not in a stirring moment like this.

The only thing he can comprehend is the sensation of your squeezing as you drip onto the sheets; how perfectly your warmth envelopes him. He’s tempted to try his best to make this last for as long as possible.

And that’s what he does.

He pulls out with a loud shaky groan, and his entire body lurches forward from how sharp and intensely the thrill of breaking off his own climax shoots through him. Then he signals you to flip around by jiggling your ass cheek.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he warns you softly on time. “There you go, now you can look at me.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will... (Coffee Run, Dr Robby Version)

Your boss had you delivering coffee to PTMH twice a day, it wasn't long before someone'd caught your eye and you'd caught theirs.

Warnings: Flirting but its like bad, like its based on a drink, physical touch

W/c: 1.4K

A/N: The intro (before the cut) is similar in each version but not always the same.

Four months ago, your boss, the owner of The Pitt Stop café was in a car crash. Thanks to a little luck and a lot of hard work from the staff of PTMH he was back to normal by now, arguably even better if you caught the skipping he'd started to do as he made his way into work most mornings.

Your mornings however had become slightly more hectic as a new job was added to your own never ending list. As a means of thanks, a set of thermos jugs and a few specific orders were yours to lug forth and back from the ER 6 days a week and twice a shift.

Your alarm sounded in chimes at quarter past six and so it began, brewing pot after pot and then cup after cup before packing it all up and making your way down the road. Distracting yourself from the chill in the air that your branded Henley and apron did nothing to protect against, you marvelled at the blown colours of the sun as you made quick work of the now familiar few blocks.

All but skidding to a stop as an ambulance peeled out of the bay you braced yourself for the inside of the ER. It was perpetually hectic inside those walls, yet it worked like a beautiful and well oiled machine and you always managed to fall into step with what you needed to do.

↳--↴

Most of the time it was impossible to catch Dr Robby's attention, making your way to the staff room you'd catch a glimpse of him moving from one bed to the next supervising and guiding as needed. He was rarely still, even more rarely was he unoccupied enough to glance around the ER, often called over before he'd looked away from one patient to get to another.

Unless Gloria was in the Pitt, then his feet were planted in one place and his eyes were flitting around anywhere but in front of him as he dodged some orders and blatantly ignored others. The performance demands of the board and his own well earned cynicism seemed to zapp his energy and focus completely within moments of these chats starting.

Today, your eyes found Robby stood seemingly cornered against the nurse's bay, looking about as trapped as he could do, shoulders tense with his hands writhing deep in the pockets of his hoodie. His fidgeting slowed, if only briefly, as he met your eyes and suddenly you were changing course.

Rifling around your pockets you looked for anything to help your little scheme; your apron? Nada. Your butt pockets? Nope. Your front pockets? Nothing. That tiny little fuck ass pocket that fits like nothing but a single key and apparently the tiny tyre shaped business card your boss had elected to use for brand individuality? Well yeah, that works.

'Hey Gloria! Doctor Robby!' perhaps your tone was a little chipper for the pair going into the last hours of their shifts as both heads turned your way like the crack of a whip as you neared.

Handing the doctor by your side his coffee without a glance, you struggled momentarily with the tiny piece of card in the tight denim pouch before brandishing it like a shield between the pair. 'Gloria you are just who I was looking for, the Pitt Stop wants to provide your departments and cafeteria with their beans and grounds.' Eyes still on the woman in front of you as she attempted to decide between pursuing her prior conversation or entertaining your proposal, your peripherals caught the twitch of the Doctor's nose as he suppressed a smirk. A somewhat defeated sigh left Gloria's lips, a chance you took to continue on, 'I'll give you his card but I think all he wants is a little signage.'

As you spoke Robby took his chance to flee, slipping away between you and the counter, the close quarters had his hand grazing your waist and the ice cold zipper of his hoodie dragging across the width of your back and leaving a sharp chill in its wake.

Gloria eyed you tiredly, as if not too frustrated but slightly put out by your interruption, nevertheless she took the card gave you a quiet,

'Sure I'll check it out' as she turned to leave.

Happy enough with your own quick thinking and slightly buzzing from the slightest of touches, you turned as well to make your way to the break room, as you walked Dana fell in step only speaking as she shut the breakroom door behind her.

'That was some good work on your feet back there, maybe we should bring you on if only to save Robby.' Dana's teasing wasn't new, but the prior scene was by far the best ammunition she'd been handed thus far. Sliding her personal cup across the counter you hoped she'd be sated, and as you moved to grab a thermos you almost thought you'd been successful.

'Of course you'd need to stop gettin' so flushed' You gaped at that, unable to rebuke her observation before she spoke up again, 'Not exactly subtle out there, and before you ask, no, I don't know if he's noticed.' Letting your head fall into your palm you were thankful for the warm hand she ran along your arm as if trying to stave off the cold on your behalf.

Pressing a kiss to your temple, Dana turned on her heel and returned to the floor. Shaking your head as you moved to lug the next jug onto the bench, you wondered whether it was worth it to put any effort into steeling yourself when around the doctor, it wasn't like it'd been successful this far anyhow.

Of course you had no chance to decide let alone consider a different approach before the door was opening once more.

'Yes Princess I got your six shot mocha' You rattled off the order as you held it out blindly behind you, expecting the nurse in question to grab the blindingly caffeinated beverage. A chuckle, much deeper than that of the nurse you'd presumed you were joined by however, echoed about the room as a warm hand enclosed your own guiding the paper cup over to the countertop.

'Princess? that's- that's a new one, strangely I don't hate it.' Robby was in no words serious but his tone wasn't exactly light either, as if something unspoken lay hidden lying in wait. Placing the jug down, you turned to lean back on your hands against the cabinetry, this time letting your eyes rest on his currently much calmer ones. 'Thank you for the uh- actually what is this?' Punctuating his question with a little shake of the cup before placing it by his side his gaze never left your face.

Swallowing slightly, you hadn't thought this part through when you'd chosen his mystery drink and now the words were struggling to pass your lips. 'It's a, a dirtier chai,' a small squint with humour in his eyes pushed you to finish your thought, 'my specialty'.

A little light chuckle left the man in front of you as his hand went to the back of his neck, a slight laugh bleeding into his words as he breathed out, 'I'll bet'.

'D'you like the taste?' A wordless hum was his only response.

'Too sweet?' Another little groan type chuckle and a disbelieving shake of his head.

'Too dirty?' As tame as it was, the tiny question was bolder than either of you had dared to be and his arms crossed over his chest, his brow raising and his hip finding the counter in a lean of his own.

Robby drew out an exhale as he studied you eyes only now leaving yours to run the length of your body, his shift of focus allowing you the place to ask again.

Turning to face him by your side, you studied his face, moving closer by barely an inch until your shoes brushed against his. 'Not dirty enough?'

'Jesus'.

Watching his lips form the word you missed his movements until a hand clutched your waist, drawing you forward and letting you practically fall into him. Palms against his chest to catch yourself, the cold metals of his stethoscope sending a chill down your spine once more.

'S'not an answer' you attempted to quip, your weaker voice falling far short of teasing especially as his other hand trailed slowly up your arm before snaking around to the base of your skull. Leaning in close his words breezed over the shell of your ear,

'Could definitely be dirtier.'

[sanatomis]

₊˚.⋆☾ ── 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.

it’s 3am, and six year old megumi fushiguro just woke up from a nightmare. the thing he wants to do most? seek comfort in your arms.

content. this reader is gn, as the relationship with megumi isn’t developed enough yet for him to call her ‘mom’ but i plan on making future fics in the same timeline—which will then be a fem reader (just a heads up <3).

notes. healing my inner child through raising megumi with satoru? more likely than you might think. . .

It’s the soft shuffle of footsteps that first woke you from your slumber. Even after seven months of them being in your custody, you still haven’t gotten used to hearing footsteps that don’t belong to neither you nor Satoru—certainly not in the middle of the night. It’s probably why you were wide awake as soon as you heard them in front of your bedroom door.

As it stands, those footsteps don’t belong to you. Or Satoru. Or Tsumiki. They’re Megumi’s, and you know that because they’re so very quiet. As if he purposely makes himself small as to not stand out. Light as a feather in order to go unnoticed. Though, the small light in your hallway betrays him. It illuminates his figure, and allows you to see the shadows of his feet from underneath the door.

You glance at the digital clock that’s placed on your nightstand. 3:32am. It’s been ten minutes since the boy arrived at your bedroom door, and nine since you woke up. Will he finally summon the courage to enter, now?

A small frown settles between your brows. You attempt once more to untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s tight grip, to flee from his arms in order to take the little boy in front of your door into your own; it’s all futile, of course. When Satoru sleeps, he sleeps deeply, and he does so with you in his arms or not at all. He holds onto you as if you were a plushie, a teddy bear he could squish against him as much as his heart desires.

It’s endearing, sure, but it does put you in a bit of a pickle at the moment. You sigh, and glance at your friendly, sleeping giant. Satoru seems at peace. Cuddled into you from behind, it seems as if he doesn’t carry a care in the world. You smile, and make a mental correction. It’s very endearing—but still, doesn’t solve your current problem.

Tearing your eyes away from your boyfriend, you throw a worried look towards the door. He’s still there, and still lacking the courage.

“Megumi,” you whisper.

He stops pacing abruptly. It’s clear he heard you, despite the barely audible mumble of his name. And, though he's startled that you caught him, he doesn’t leave.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. There’s an attempt at pouring as much softness and gentleness in your voice as you can, not wanting to you scare him off. “You can come in, the door’s unlocked.”

The door opens very, very slowly. It seems everything Megumi does, he does so without creating too much of a fuss. All his movements are meek, careful—they’re made to not bother anybody. It saddens you a little, the fact that he’s so accustomed to making himself as invisible and easy to manage as possible.

A messy fluff of black hair appears in your line of sight. You suppress an amused smile at the sight. He shyly peeks into your room, one of his hands resting against the side of the door.

“Hey,” you say softly, and your eyes follow him as he quietly walks over to your side of the bed. He stops in front of you, but doesn’t speak. “Are you okay?”

It doesn’t take you long to notice the teary eyes, or the water staining his cheeks. You look at him sadly, and carefully bring a hand up to wipe the liquid off his cheek. He’s trying to be brave, you can see. Though the way his bottom lip shakes, and his eyes fill with tears again, completely breaks your heart.

“What’s wrong, Gumi?”

Megumi is really, really trying to keep himself together—ever the little adult that he is. Though his sniffles are quiet, they’re still there. They’re still present, and he’s unable to hide them. He’s crying. He’s crying, and came to you for comfort.

You shift on the bed, once again attempting to leave Satoru’s hold, and fail just as you have done before. A conflicted sigh leaves you. There’s little you can do to soothe him if you can’t get up. . .but he’s crying. The stoic, brave little kid that’s been residing within your apartment for many months now is crying.

Another tear falls down his cheek, and you make it your mission to catch it. “It’s okay,” you whisper softly, wiping the droplet away. The rustle of the covers beneath your hands is the loudest sound so far, as you push them aside to make place for him. “It’s okay, baby, come here.”

The solution to your problem isn’t one that’s welcomed eagerly. Megumi hesitates to snuggle under the covers with you—no, not with you, but with your menace of a boyfriend. He sniffs again, but doesn’t move.

“Gumi?” You mumble. A part of you fears it’s too much, too soon. It’s been seven months, and he’s difficult to open up. Perhaps cuddling into you is a step too far. However, then you see it; the way his eyes dart between you and Satoru. It answers a lot of your questions. “He’s fast asleep. You don’t need to worry.”

It seems he’s still a little unsure. Megumi gets rid of a lump in his throat, and frowns. “Are you. . .sure?”

“Mhm, he’s out like a light.”

That’s enough for him. Megumi crawls into the bed, and (albeit carefully) settles himself within your arms. He’s so very small—is what you think when he curls up against your chest. Such an adorable little kid, who definitely didn’t deserve the hardships he’s had to endure so far.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask, voice muffled as you rest one of your cheeks on top of his head. “We don’t have to, but I’m here if you’d like to.”

Megumi’s breathing evens out. The shaky breaths and hasty intakes of air settle down, and you feel a sense of relief.

“I had a bad dream,” he confesses. It’s clear he feels a little stupid, reaching for you when he had something as fickle as a bad dream. “It’s—It’s not that important, but. . .”

“Why wouldn’t it be, hm?” You interrupt him, and gently brush a hand through his messy hair. It’s something he appreciates, as his eyes slowly flutter shut while he enjoys the feeling. “If it upsets you, it’s always important, Megumi.”

There’s another sniff. He’s crying again, though it might be for a different reason this time. Your arms hold him gently, and you sigh sadly when his small hands bunch up the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You don’t push him any further. If he wishes to talk about what bothers him, then you’ll be here to receive him. Until then, you’ll wait.

“. . .You won’t leave us, right?”

Though, you hadn’t expected his worries to break your heart. They’re vocalised by a voice so small, so pitifully tiny that it nearly makes you doubt that it was Megumi who said them—Megumi, who’s usually all snark and bite towards your ever loving boyfriend. The mere fact has you squeeze him a little tighter.

“Of course, I won’t,” you assure him.

There are things you want to ask him. Such as, what brought this on? How come you feel this way, now? Is there anything I can do for you? But you don’t. It’s not what he needs right now.

“And—And what if you and him break up,” he mumbles. You realise he must be truly upset, and genuinely worried if he refers to Satoru as ‘him’ rather than some insulting word. “What will happen to me and Tsumiki, then?”

You smile, and kiss the top of his head. “We won’t break up, so, there’s no need to worry about that, baby.”

“But—But what if you do?”

There’s a sincere concern in his eyes. You grab his face and gently hold it in the palm of your hands. “Well,” you say. “I suppose, I’ll just have to take you two with me.”

Megumi’s bottom lip starts to tremble again. He forces it to still, just as he forces the tears in his eyes away by blinking. “Do you promise?” He looks at Satoru, and frowns a little despite his sadness. “You—You can’t leave me here with him, okay?”

It can’t be helped. You laugh, and it’s a little louder than you initially meant for it to be. There’s a hand placed in front of your mouth rather quickly, not your own, no, but Megumi’s. He looks at you with wide eyes, almost in disbelief that you managed to find the humour in this situation. You smile against his hand, and he only (hesitantly) removes it when you open your mouth to speak.

“I promise,” you say. “I won’t leave you or Tsumiki—ever. Not even with Satoru.”

That does the trick, it seems, as the boy settles back into your arms after giving you a swift nod and small mutter of acknowledgement. He hides his face into the crook of your neck, and sighs deeply. It’s filled with a lot of things; relief, sadness, but above all fatigue. It seems that, now that he’s calming down, his lack of sleep is catching up to him.

“Gumi,” you whisper, and start carding your fingers through his hair again. The slow movement soothes him, as his eyes slowly start to close. “Would you like to sleep with us tonight?”

You feel him tense up in your hold. It was to be expected, you think. Despite that, you deem it important for him to make that decision himself. You could easily let him doze off, but you know he will berate himself for it the next morning.

Megumi doesn’t move. “. . .He’ll be annoying about it.”

It’s not difficult to realise that the ‘he’ he speaks of is your darling boyfriend, who, admittedly, would be annoying about it if he were to wake up with Megumi suddenly asleep in your bed. It’s been seven months, and the kid seems to have Satoru’s personality down-pat. His comments would be relentless.

“No, he won’t,” you assure him. Though your boyfriend can be considered childish, he’s also compassionate—and you don’t doubt for a second that he’ll cut down on the teasing when you speak to him about Megumi’s troubles.

The kid moves in your arms. Megumi shuffles around a little to look at you, and doesn’t bat an eye when you gently brush a few hairs out of his face.

“How are you so sure?” He mumbles, the usual grumpiness when speaking of your boyfriend slowly but surely returns. It makes you smile; it’s a sign he’s gradually doing better again.

“Because,” you say, and gently poke his cheeks. His eyes crinkle, and his nose scrunches up a little, but he lets you do as you wish regardless. “I’ll talk to him. He won’t say a word, okay?”

There is little in the world that Megumi trusts less than Satoru’s ability to keep his mouth shut, but—if he were to appoint something that he trusts most, then it would surely be your ability to control your manchild of a boyfriend.

Megumi looks at you. In silence, of course. It’s one of the few things he has never minded. He blinks up at you. Once, twice, and then he goes to rest on your chest again.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I trust you.”

The three small words uttered by the six year old in your arms are enough to squeeze your heart. They meant the world to you, as they did to him. Your hold on him tightens momentarily, filled with too much affection to bear.

That went well, you dare to think. Could’ve gone a lot worse. In his hazy state, Megumi curls into you further—and rests one of his arms over your waist, just underneath Satoru’s. You fight a smile. Yeah, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

EXTRA!

It takes Megumi a little longer to get out of bed the next morning. Not because he’s so much more comfortable in your enormous (and ridiculously soft) king-sized bed—though, that does add to it—but simply because he’s a little nervous.

Both you and Satoru have already gotten up, which means the white-haired man must have seen him sleeping next to the two of you. But, it also means that you must have seen your boyfriend by now, which means you have spoken to him about. . .

He wants to get up. He should get up. You told him you’d speak to Satoru, and Megumi trusts you.

And it appears that his faith in you wasn’t unfounded, as the only thing that greets him when he walks into the kitchen is an overtly aggressive and way too enthusiastic rub over his head. Megumi swats Satoru’s hand away immediately, the regular scowl settling on his lips as the man rattles on and on about the breakfast you two had prepared for them.

Though, as irritated as he might be when finally sitting down at the table with the three of you—that stupid rub over the top of his head doesn’t feel nearly as bad now.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[ifancyharry]

Close As Strangers

what it is: Harry has been away for six months and YN wants to move on - based on Close As Strangers by 5 seconds of summer!!

word count: 4k+

Harry hurried down the hallway all the way to his room, sliding the key card against the key-reader, unlocking the door and pushing it open with his palms pressed against it.

He quickly removed his shoes, tossing them near the door, before plopping down on the hotel bed, his back against the headboard.

He fished out of his skinny jeans his phone, grimacing at the screen that read 3 missed calls from ‘Angel <3’.

He sighed as he unlocked it, typing hurriedly the number he knew by heart on the keyboard, and putting it on speaker, too tired to hold the phone to his shoulder for the call.

He waited for her to pick up as he listened to the incessant ringing of the line.

“Pick up, pick up” he whispered, biting at the skin of his thumb to suppress his sighs.

He knew he was late. And he felt like he could only imagine the disappointment YN felt when he didn’t answer her call.

He and YN had picked out a specific time throughout the day where the both of them had to be available. No matter what the other was doing, at 7 o’clock they had to answer the phone, which was a pretty understandable rule, and Harry had found it easy to comply to it at first, excusing himself to take a call or getting covered by his band mates if he couldn’t make up an excuse quickly enough. But with time, his schedule had gotten really busy.

And he sometimes missed her calls.

He wasn’t the fresh out of XFactor sixteen year old he’d been when they first started dating. He was Harry from One Direction now, and despite him feeling as the same shy guy that worked in a bakery, life around him had changed, and with it, his relationship.

He knew how she was; he knew she wasn’t answering because she was upset. And Harry really didn’t blame her, but he just didn’t find it reasonable to be upset (“stubborn little thing! — he’d say, once she had calmed down and answered the phone — It doesn’t benefit neither of us if you don’t pick up ‘cause you’re mad!”).

He rolled his eyes once the line went dead, and opened the text app instead, typing quickly with his fingers.

Baby pick up I wanna talk to you

After a couple of minutes, he wrote again: please

I miss you

And after that, he tried the line once again. This time, she picked up after five rings with a small “hello?”, her voice sounded croaky distorted from the phone.

“Hello angel. I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

“It’s okay”, and Harry felt her sigh through the phone, “i was thinking we should push back the calls until you’re back…”

“What?”

“I know you’re pretty busy,” she said, sternly, “and I don’t want to bother you.”

“What?��� Harry repeated, and once he realised he already asked that, he cleared his voice and said: “you could never be a bother”.

YN couldn’t see him but she knew he was shaking his head. She tried not to picture the frown in his brows and the pout on his lips, otherwise she couldn’t possibly keep going.

“Things are different now—”

“No.” He cut her off, “don’t say that, angel. Nothing’s changed. It’s still us.”

“Harry” she softened her tone to make sure he really understood her, “it’s still us. — she nodded firmly to herself — I think it’s best if we stick to texting for now. It’s okay.”

“Okay… okay, if that’s - if that’s what you want. Okay.”

“It’s better this way” she sighed once again and Harry felt her breathing through the phone, her shaky breath loud in his ears as if it were his own.

“But we’re good, right? Tell me we’re good.”

“Yes, of course we’re good.”

Harry nodded, staying quiet as the words she’d just spoken lingered in the air between them. Despite being so far away he could almost feel her right next to him as she kept talking, unaware of the heavy weight he felt on his chest making it a little harder to breathe, the sudden realisation that maybe they weren’t good after all.

-

Harry:

Good luck on your exam baby xx

Harry typed the message quickly before locking his phone in his hands.

“1 minute, guys!” Paul reminded them, and for the first time in three years, Harry didn’t want to perform.

YN had a really big exam, the most important of her course, and his heart ached at the thought of not being there with her. He didn’t want to go on stage, and if he was a bad person, he wouldn’t. He would call his driver and go straight to the airport. But Harry wasn’t like that. No.

Since the beginning of his career, he always felt like he owed something to someone, because as he often said to YN, things like this don’t happen to people like him. What he meant with ‘people like him’ no one truly knows, because YN is sure Harry would be successful even if he wasn’t in the band, even if he never went to XFactor, he would have found a way to do what he loves. People would’ve known him either way, because he’s Harry Styles.

And if he didn’t… was it that bad? Wasn’t a life with her not enough to him? She often wonders that, but then she feels extremely guilty and she stops. She knows it’s wrong to think in such a way, because Harry says many times that that XFactor audition was the best thing he ever did in his life, but sometimes you can’t really control your heart as much as your thoughts.

“Harry, stop texting and let’s go!” Paul shouted, from his position on the doorframe.

Sometimes it’s though, for Harry. He tries really hard not to snap at the crew members because he knows they’re just doing their job, but he would often like to say: handle me a little bit softer, please! Because he is still human, and despite enjoying his job, he still needs to be handled gently. He’s only 19.

He obviously never says anything because as stated before, he’s had this strange feeling of owing his career to someone (no one in particular… his fans? Simon Cowell? He doesn’t know, he just knows the feeling in his gut), and he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Harry throws a quick glance at him and nodds, sighing heavily as he hears his phone ding with a message.

Angel <3:

Can I call you, please? I don’t feel good

“Harry, I said let’s go.” He said once again, walking towards him and taking his shirt in his grip, tugging on the sleeve a bit.

Harry grimaced a little at the thought of not answering YN’s text, but he hadn’t opened it, so he guessed she’d probably think he was already on stage.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” He shrugged, tossing his phone on the couch and turning towards the door.

Paul nods and “c’mon, rockstar” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair playfully.

“Hey!” He pouted, chuckling as he bumps his arm against his.

Harry tried not to think too much about YN and her message, but he couldn’t help the pang in his chest as he walked out of the changing rooms and heard his phone ringing, the personalised ringer he set YN when he first bought the phone hitting him right in the heart.

He rolled his lips in his mouth as he walked towards the stage, the image of YN all alone at home with her phone to her ear hunting his thoughts.

-

Harry:

Hey, baby, how are you? What are you doing?

seen, 10.27am

Answer meeeee

seen, 11.47am

Are you mad at me? Why aren’t you answering?

seen, 12.01am

Angel <3:

Hary.. sprry i was ouy

Harry:

Are you drunk?

Angel <3:

Jst a litle bit hahahaahah

Harry:

Are you safe?

Angel <3:

yea, wit Emma xx txt tommrw

Harry sighed heavily as he rubbed his temples, tossing his phone on the bed beside him. He closed his eyes as he tried to soothe the impending headache as best as he could. He knew he shouldn’t think like this, but he sometimes can’t help but get angry with her; they never get time to talk, and the only time he can call her, she’s out drinking with her friends. It’s wrong and he’s being unfair, of course he knows. He’s just… he feels defeated. And left out. She feels so far away, and he’s sad he can’t be there with her. Why is she drinking? Is she celebrating something? Did she pass her exam? He doesn’t even know. He didn’t even ask, really. Because he was on The Late Late Show in the morning and was already performing with the band by the evening.

So he’s aware it’s his fault, but at the moment, he just feels like being angry at her. He’ll feel guilty in the morning, and he’ll try not to think about her like that ever again, but tonight… he allows himself the feeling.

He feels sick to his stomach when he realises he doesn’t even know who Emma is. He’s been away so long she made new friends he never got to meet.

-

Harry:

I wish you were here.

Harry knows this relationship isn’t going to work. He knows it deep in his heart, the feeling has been growing deep in his belly ever since he auditioned on xfactor, and if he was a better person he would end it.

He would take his brand new (very expensive) phone, digit the number he knows by heart and just… end it.

Dump her, to say it as straight as it is.

But he can’t.

He knows it’s what’s best for the both of them, he can tell she wants to move on, enjoy life with her friends, be loved by someone who could show his love by being present, but he is too selfish to do that.

The mere thought of her with someone else kills him, makes him sick to his stomach. So what does he do instead? He looks for her in every face in the crowd, in every person he meets (and there’s a lot).

Incoming: FaceTime call.

From: Angel <3

“Hi, H” YN whispers softly as soon as he answers the call.

“Hi angel.”

“I missed you, feel like I haven’t seen y’re face in ages”

“I know”, he clears his throat awkwardly, unsure on what to tell her, “still the same pretty face” he jokes.

“No, you look…” Harry can see her furrow her brows down to the middle, “you look different… older”.

What she really wants to say is he looks… glowier? Like someone who slept for twelve hours or someone who just came back from a ten days vacation at an all inclusive resort.

It’s weird, seeing him like this, he sort of lost his edgier and childlike state.

He looks more mature, yes, but also more polished. His once fluffy and untamed hair look shiny and… styled? He certainly has hairdressers, because YN saw it from an instagram post, but she thought it was like a one time thing… not a recurring one.

She feels kind of out of place, in front of this boy - guy, more like - she hasn’t seen in six weeks.

She finds it hard to remember it’s still her Harry.

She wonders how many things he saw in these six weeks, how many things he did without her, how many new places he discovered without sharing it with her, without making her a part of it.

The awkward energy isn’t lost on both parts, and if YN isn’t afraid to show it, Harry tries all he can to keep the conversation normal. He won’t give up.

“You look beautiful as ever” he says with a grin, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

She only partially breaks in a smile, because she doesn’t want him to feel bad.

It’s not him, entirely, it’s them… it’s them as a whole.

“Everyday gets harder to stay away from you” he reiterates, “but I’ll see you soon, okay? At your birthday?”

“Yeah… okay” she gulps, her hands playing nervously with a stray thread coming off of her cream sweater.

“Soon. I promise.”

She nods and pretends she believes him.

The conversation only lasts for a couple of minutes, their hours long calls are just a memory by now, and she asks a couple of questions to pretend everything is fine and not alarm him.

But she knows he can feel something shifted between them, because nothing is as once was.

-

“I think we should head inside, love” Anne kindly said, placing a gentle and comforting hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“No” YN shook her head firmly, in her stomach a nauseous feeling was tingling her insides; she tried to defend him with everything she could: “he can’t. He promised he’d be here. He’s coming. I know he is”

“Okay” Anne murmured, as she threw a wary look in Gemma’s direction, “let’s just wait a little bit more.”

“Yes!” Gemma agreed, “maybe his flight is late…?” She suggested, albeit with little conviction.

YN nodded her head absentmindedly, her gaze lost in the pinkness of the sky extending before her.

She had wanted to wait for his arrival to cut the cake, refusing Gemma’s offer (more like plea) to at least light up the candles to sing her happy birthday, so everyone was starving and YN had the strange feeling they were all upset. With her or with Harry she didn’t really know.

It’s not like she blamed them, the scene presented in front of them (YN waiting all day for Harry who didn’t even call to tell her he wasn’t coming; YN refusing to invite her friends because she wanted it to be just close family and she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her boyfriend) was pathetic as it was already.

She really didn’t think Harry had it in him to miss her birthday.

Everything YN could really think of was how thankful she was it was just her, Anne and Gemma. What would have happened if she had invited more people? She would have ended up looking like the fool who gets stood up at her own birthday by her own boyfriend.

They had been waiting since lunch time and it was already sunset, the now orange sky a dreadful reminder of how much time was passing and how late it was getting.

In her heart, buried deep under her hope, she knew he wasn’t coming. She knew his flight wasn’t late because he never boarded it in the first place, breaking the promise he’d made her that he’d be there for her birthday.

She tried to think about a birthday she passed without Harry, but nothing came to mind. Ever since they started dating, he’d always be there celebrating with her and making her happy on what is supposed to be a day all about her.

She tried to think how much she was willing to wait, she didn’t want to encounter in the possibility of having to wait until late night, but she knew that if she didn’t give herself an ultimatum she never would have stopped waiting for him.

“YN…” Anne interrupted her train of thoughts, once it started to get a bit chilly in the garden and the humidity was starting to get uncomfortable.

“I know.” YN interrupted her briefly, trying not to pay too much attention to the way her eyes were starting to tingle a bit, the humiliation being so bad it was starting to grow inside her like a balloon waiting to pop, “it’s okay.” She nodded, reassuring Anne, but maybe herself too - a little bit.

She shifted her gaze to Gemma, who frowned at the look on her face, “it’s okay.” She repeated, “I knew he wasn’t coming, after all, I knew.”

She could feel their eyes on her as she brought a hand up to her chest, hoping that maybe the warmth could soothe her aching heart; but nothing about her was warm.

She actually felt really cold, her hand on her chest only accentuated her panic and humiliation as she could hear her heart beat fast against her chest cage.

“I am so sorry” Anne said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly,

“We’re certainly not leaving him any cake” Gemma joked, but her humour fell on deaf ears, because neither YN nor Anne laughed. In Anne’s opinion, there wasn’t anything to laugh about, and in YN’s… well, she wasn’t really paying any attention to her surroundings.

“Let’s go inside, love” Anne repeated once again, but this time YN nodded and got up from her chair.

She inhaled a little before heading towards the door.

Once she was inside, she felt the warm air hit her cheeks, and the sweet smell of the cake cooling off in the oven invaded her nostrils.

The cozy ambience was becoming kind of overwhelming, and she wished she could just close her eyes and be out of that damn house. The house where she spent all her best days with her boyfriend. Was he even her boyfriend anymore?

She felt sick to her stomach thinking those kinds of thoughts, but how couldn’t she? There weren’t many things she cared about like she cared about birthdays, and Harry knew it all too well.

“I think I’ll just head home…” she sighed, a heavy weight on her chest was making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Don’t you want to stay? We could eat some cake and…”

“No” she shook her head forcefully, “I just need to go home, I have to wake up early tomorrow”.

“Okay, love. I’m…” Anne began saying, but she stopped herself. There weren’t many words to say to excuse her son’s behaviour.

“Just… drive safe, okay?”

-

YN felt very alone as she laid in her bed that night; it wasn’t later than 9pm, way too early for her bedtime, but she really didn’t care, at that point she’d do whatever worked to make the day end sooner.

What was worse (if there even was something worse) was that her phone hadn’t rang one time since she’d arrived home, and that meant not only Harry hadn’t shown up to her birthday lunch, but he didn’t even feel guilty about it.

That was everything she needed to know.

She’d always been convinced chasing dreams couldn’t be harmful in anyway, and maybe for Harry it hadn’t been… but for her? What about her? Was she selfish for getting in the way of his dream of a life time?

All these questions ran through her head, a sharp pain growing behind her eyes from keeping in the tears for too long. They spiked against her eyes but she refused to let them fall, she had cried too long for him. This was really all she could do, but without even realising, she had started crying long before even getting in bed.

“Stop it” she condemned herself, pressing the tips of her fingers on her eyelids to dry the tears. “Just stop” she sobbed against her hands.

She doesn’t know for how long she laid there, and at some point she thinks she eventually stopped crying, too exhausted to let anything else out.

Before succumbing to a what she knew would be a troubled sleep, she grabbed her phone and typed a message quickly.

It read: we’re over.

-

When YN sent that text, she knew they weren’t over. They never could be, not without talking it out at first, and Harry… well he’s very stubborn, and at first, it was a quality she liked about him, but when he started calling her back to back until she answered, she reevaluated that.

Text from: Harry

I won’t stop calling until you answer the phone

I’m not joking, YN

Answer

We’re not over

Are we?

We can’t be

You can’t leave me like that

Answer the phone please

I can explain

It took her two days to call him. Two days of uninterrupted messages, two days of tears and an ache in her chest she tried to get rid of by eating tons of ice cream.

Her finger had lingered a while on the green call button before pressing it, but it only took him two rings to answer.

“YN…” he started, and he sort of sounded relieved, she has to admit that.

Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Stop pestering me with all those messages.” She said firmly, “I don’t want to talk to you”.

“YN” he sighed once again, “please let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Harry! You missed my birthday” she said, and she tried really hard to keep her voice from breaking, but it didn’t really work.

“I know.” He said firmly, “my phone broke, I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to reach you… and by the time I got a new one, I had a concert and I couldn’t… you don’t know how these things work YN, I can’t just drop everything and run to you”.

She felt his words like a bullet piercing through her chest, “you’re right, I don’t know how these things work, but I still deserve to be treated with respect”

“I know. I know you do”.

Sometimes YN wishes Harry had never auditioned for xfactor in the first place. She knows it’s selfish but she doesn’t care. If that makes her a bad person, so be it.

If he’d never auditioned they wouldn’t be here, and she wouldn’t have to beg him for the respect he’d always showed her in the past.

“We really tried to make this work, Harry” she said in a soft voice, at this point all she could feel was defeat.

The whole situation was simply too hurtful to keep going.

“No. Stop. Don’t talk like that.” He’s quick to reply, and she could hear him get up from the bed she supposed he was sitting on.

“You missed my birthday! What am I supposed to say?”

“Enough with this birthday! I explained how things went already. You can’t just leave me like that for a single mistake”.

“But it’s not just the birthday! it’s… everything” she snapped, tired of him dragging a situation that’s been difficult long before he missed her birthday.

“Everything? You’re being unfair, YN. I tried with all I could to be present”

“But you didn’t! You never call, you’re always busy doing god knows what! -

“I’m working, YN, what do you think!” He interrupted her, but she started again with a scoff.

“I feel like I don’t know you anymore, H… buying fancy cars, hanging out with models… what? am I not enough for you anymore? Is that it? If you want out, why don’t you tell me? Why don’t you leave me?”

At that point she was certain she was crying, she could feel the warm tears streaming down her cheeks, but, in the confines of her home, she didn’t really care. Plus, it’s not like Harry hadn’t really seen her cry before.

She cried when she got her first A in maths Harry helped her study for (she had studied really hard), she cried in his arms all night when her childhood dog died (he had died an happy death at 16 years old, but still, it didn’t dull the pain), she cried to him when a mean guy called her four eyes in middle school and Harry had threatened to beat the shit out of him (she realised she loved him then), and she cried with him when he received the call he’d been selected to audition on xfactor.

All these times she’d cried, he had always been there to console her, comfort her, rubbing her back, holding her close to his chest, caressing her face with his soft hands. Where was he now, then? Why, after she threatened to end their relationship, he didn’t drop everything and hop on the first flight home? Why was she crying alone in her room?

A beat passed before he answered, and she wondered if he’s mustering up the courage to leave her. To finally do it. She hoped he would, quick and painless.

“I don’t want to leave you, even if it hurts, okay? You think it doesn’t pain me hearing you cry and not being there? It does. But I won’t give up on us. Even if it hurts, I’m not giving up. Are you?”

“I don’t know” she started, uncertain on what to say.

“No, you know, you know you love me. You do love me, right?”

“Of course I do” she reiterated, sniffling with her nose.

“That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this, I swear.”

It took a little bit more of convincing until YN finally gave in. She didn’t know how long this would go on for, how long they could make it last before going off like a grenade and destroying everything around them.

All she knew is this time, he didn’t even promise he’d come back to her soon. What did it mean? Is something not said as important as what was actually said?

-

After six months he’s been away, YN realises she should have left him that night. She would have saved herself so many missed calls, broken lines, fights and once again, tears.

Her desire to keep watering a dead plant ruined everything in the end.

She wanted out the very first moment he started missing her calls, she wanted to end it, and had she done it, by now she’d be somewhat partially healed, hanging out with her friends, checking his profile maybe once a week when she was really drunk.

But no.

These six months without him only alienated her and hurt her, and she’s finally mustered up the courage to leave him like she intended to.

It’s not a threat this time, as she tries to find the best words to leave him with.

She’s typing her message when her phone screen turns black for a fraction of a second and then his picture invades the screen.

Call from: Harry

“YN” he breathes out, not even letting her say hi to him, “I’m coming home. They told us today, I’m coming home.” he repeats, so many times he doesn’t even let her process this new information.

She doesn’t say anything, the words she has longed to hear for a long time now seem dull, like a cruel joke she doesn’t understand.

“You’re coming home?” She gulps, trying to steady her racing heart.

“Yes!” He exclaims, and then he proceeds to explain the logistics of his trip back home, how all the guys had begged for some time off and how the label finally agreed on two weeks of rest.

All YN can think about is how this is all too overwhelming to understand.

It’s been six months since she’s seen him.

How will it feel? Seeing him again after so long? Touching him? She feels like she doesn’t really know him anymore. So many things he did without her, so many people he met she doesn’t know and she will never be introduced to, so many new songs written, some that aren’t even about her.

She really wants to be happy, trust me she does, but all she can think about is how it feels like, by now, they’re as close as strangers.

[sirsoggybread]

Stranger|Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x Winchester! Reader Summary: A Criminal Minds x Supernatural crossover in which Spencer finds the Reader drowning their sorrows at the bar. (Potentially the first part of a series.) Warnings: Drinking, typical mentions of violence, spoilers for s7/s8 of supernatural, gn! reader, no use of y/n, reader doesn't like whiskey? idk i've never done this before WC: 1.4k a/n: I'm gonna be so honest, I actually don't know what this is. This is my first time actually posting a fic, I'm trying my best, so please judge lightly. If your interested in reading more, I may be interested in writing more. don't quote me on any facts btw, i stole them almost verbatim from wikipedia.

You swirled your drink around in your glass. You had been sipping on it slowly, because it was hard to force the bitter taste down. You never liked whiskey, you weren't sure why you ordered it, except you were, because it was Dean's favorite drink.

Chasing a lead that led you to another dead end is what brought you to this annoyingly loud, and overly warm bar. Missing him, and replaying those last few memories over and over again in your mind is what led you here. One moment he was there, jamming the stake into Dick Roman's heart, one moment you guys were successful, and the strenuous fight against the leviathans was finally over. The next moment? Dean was gone. 

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, it was Kevin, again. You let out a soft sigh as you declined it, again. You felt a little guilty, but you did not have the energy to talk to him. Or the heart to tell him that the lead he was so proud of digging up led to nothing. 

You were tired. For the past six months you had been telling yourself that he was alive. He had to be. There was no body, and if there was no body then he was not dead. He was Dean, you're invincible older brother who loved you so dearly and of course he wasn't dead.

But you were starting to doubt yourself. Even if he was alive, crawling around Purgatory somewhere, how would you get to him? How could you save him like he had saved you so many times before? 

You were pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by the soft spoken, almost meek words of the man standing next to you, waiting on his drink.

"You... alright?" 

Slowly, you turned your head, and you met his gaze. His hazel eyes held a soft expression, filled with concern for you- someone he had never even met before. He nervously tucked a lock of his messy brown curls behind his ear before continuing, "you... seem a little down." 

Your expression softened ever-so-slightly at his gentle demeanor. Still, you weren't exactly in the mood for therapy with a stranger. Besides, it wasn't like you could actually confide in anyone about your troubles, not without them deeming you as crazy and locking you up in the psych ward. 

You nodded slowly in response, bringing your drinks to your lips once again- you tried not to grimace at the taste. "Fine," you said shortly, unable to muster up the energy it took to pretend to be okay.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" He asked as he hesitantly stepped closer, though he was still careful to ensure that the two of you didn't touch. 

"Not particularly," You hummed in response, and you internally cursed the tears that began to prick your eyes. It was a sure sign that the thoughts inside your head were desperate to come out, but if you were good at anything, it was suppressing your emotions. Even when it felt like you were drowning in them.

The man lingered beside you, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but he also wasn’t sure of what to say, "Did you know that alcoholism, while typically attributed to environmental factors, can also be equally attributed to genetic factors? Someone with a parent or sibling that abuses alcohol is 3 to 4 times more likely to abuse it as well, and it almost always begins by using alcohol to self-medicate." 

At first, you were caught off guard by him suddenly sounding like a wikipedia article, but then his insinuation hit you and you were mildly offended. "You just met me three minutes ago, and now you're calling me an alcoholic?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes widened and he vehemently shook his head in response, "No, no, I'm merely suggesting that you..." He trailed off, biting down on his bottom lip as he realized he would only dig himself a deeper hole. He swallowed and attempted a different approach, "I just think that if you're... struggling... you should talk to someone."

You inhaled deeply at his words, and pinched the bridge of your nose. You didn't want to be rude, because he seemed genuinely concerned, but this conversation was grating. “Yeah, well, sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to play therapist tonight.” “Actually, I’m a doctor, not a therapist.” He quickly corrected, which only added to your annoyance. Then, the scraping of the chair next to you filled your ears, as he pulled it out from beneath the bar top and sat down. Great.

“Then, why are you trying to get me to talk about my feelings?” You huffed, meeting his eyes once again. 

His lips formed a sympathetic pout, “Because you look like you need it.” He said gently, eliciting another sigh from you.

You looked up at the ceiling of the bar, as you debated internally. Maybe you did want to talk about it, to get it off your chest, but it wasn’t like you could divulge everything, and even if you could, you doubted some random guy would be able to say anything comforting. “My brother’s gone.” The words came out weakly, before you could even process what you had said.

“Gone?” He asked, his quiet tone barely audible over the music and chatter in the bar. You kept your eyes trained on the last sip of whiskey in your glass as you gave a slight nod, “Yeah… everyone- everyone thinks he’s dead, but… there was no body.” Now that you had started talking about it, the words just kept spilling out, “But I know he’s still out there, I- I know it. I just… I don’t know how to- I don’t know if I can find him.” A moment of silence passed between the two of you, and you looked up from your glass in anticipation. Deep-down, you hoped he would somehow come up with the perfect thing to say. Something that would suddenly cause the wild storm of thoughts swirling around in your brain to clear, or lift the heavy weight of the guilt that settled in your chest. But he didn’t. The disappointment you felt started to sink in as he stared at you with pity in his eyes.

“How long has he been missing?”

“Six months.”

His brows furrowed instantly at your answer, and his stare hardened as if he was deep in thought, “That’s… an awfully short amount of time for someone who’s missing to be determined dead.”

Your lips parted with a sigh at his words. Well, that therapy session was short-lived. You did not feel like carefully choosing words, or coming up with elaborate lies to fill the holes in your story just so you could bare your soul to a stranger. 

“...It’s complicated.” You admitted, forcing the last sip of whiskey down your throat. When you got up from your seat, he quickly followed suit.

“Wait, um, are you… going to be okay to get home?” He asked, swaying awkwardly. You nodded, “Yeah, I’m not driving.” Even if you were, you had only had one drink and you nursed it. “Okay, I just um-” He swallowed nervously and dug out a card from his pocket and offered it to you, “If you… ever need anything, just um, give me a call.”

                                      Doctor Spencer Reid The United States Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington, DC                                 (702) 555-0103

You looked between him and the card he had just handed you, and you were almost impressed by the fact that he worked for the FBI, but you were mostly confused by why he chose to give you his card. “Does every FBI agent just hand out their card whenever they hear a sob story?” “Well, no, I just um- I just thought that, you know.. Maybe- maybe, if something about your brother came up or- or if you needed something I could just um, I dunno, offer some extra assistance.” His eyes finally landed on you as he finished his sentence, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The corner of your mouth tugged into a subtle smile at his awkward demeanor. He was sweet, but you knew he couldn’t help you. Still, you gestured to the card in your hand, “Thanks, maybe I will.”

You weren’t sure why, but you gave him your name before you left the bar, and you weren’t sure why, but instead of throwing his business card away, you slipped it into your jacket pocket for safe keeping. (Part Two)

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Where You Belong

Fem!Reader When you move into a house with 8 men for six months, one seems to be do everything he can to make you stay. <pt3 pt4 pt5>

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

You felt the heat of his breath against your skin, the sensation grounding you in a moment that felt almost too vivid to be real. His hands, warm and steady and calloused, cradled your face with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The closeness was suffocating in the best way- the way his lips brushed yours, hesitant but deliberate, made you forget about everything else. The way he made you feel was undeniable. It was safe and exhilarating all at once.

The way he touched you felt reverent- like every movement, every graze of his fingertips along your jawline, was a confession. His thumb lingered on the edge of your lower lip, and your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. The world around you faded further into obscurity, leaving only the press of his body against yours and the overwhelming heat between you.

When his lips claimed yours again, it was deeper this time- slow, exploratory, and unhurried, his teeth grazing into your bottom lip gently and leisurely, as if he was savoring every second. Your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the damp strands as you pulled him impossibly closer. There was no rush, no urgency, just a steady, all-consuming connection that left you breathless and yearning. His other hand trailed down your side, grounding you, sending a jolt through your veins.

His voice, low and gravelly, murmured your name like a secret meant only for you. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you clung to him, afraid that if you let go, the moment would shatter. The haze around you made it all the more tantalizing, and you wanted to say his name, but it was stuck in your throat. Refusing to crawl its way past the same lips interlocked with his. Then just as it started to form-

BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP-

You were in your room, tangled in your sheets, the early morning light peeking through the curtains. Your alarm was beeping and you felt dizzy.

What was that dream?

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to catch your breath. It was just a dream, you reminded yourself, though the phantom sensation of whoever you were kissing's touch lingered, trailing goosebumps along your skin.

Pressing a hand to your flushed cheek, you tried to shake the vividness of it from your mind. It was so real… too real. But who was it?

It wasn't my ex...deep down I know...but who else...

The thought followed you as you stumbled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, still trying to piece together the fragments of the dream. You barely had time to orient yourself before you were bombarded.

“Y/N! Morning!” Jisung practically tackled you with a hug, his bright grin melting away the remnants of your sleepy haze.

“Ji, I just woke up,” you groaned, though you couldn’t suppress the small laugh bubbling up as he clung to you like an overexcited puppy, and you leaned in, his embrace becoming something you had quickly gotten familiar with the past month.

“Doesn’t matter! Morning hugs are mandatory!” he declared, finally letting you go. "We made you breakfast since its your late day."

You couldn't help but smile as you sat down at the kitchen island next to Jeongin who for some odd reason looked guilty. 

You rose and eyebrown and sniffed the air. 

"Jeongin..."

He didn't answer.

"Innie." 

Still no answer.

You sighed. 

"Yah, Oppa." 

The fox eye boy turned to you. "Yes."

"Did you use my shampoo again?"

"Why would you think that?" He asked with a serious face.

"Because it smells like green apples."

"Are you sure you aren't smelling the apple slices on your plate? You eat them so much you could become a green apple."

You stood up to sniff his hair. Not noticing the onslaught of eyes on you.

"Yah, is our baby bread finally making moves?" Chris teased but before he could answer you smacked Jeongin's arm.

"You dingbat! You smell like green apples- that shampoo set cost me fifty dollars! It's hair care repair!" You exclaimed emphasizing each word with a smack.

"Ah! I said I didn't- is that anyway to speak to your elder- AH HYUNG SHE'S CHOKEHOLDING ME-"

You didn't notice as a pair of quiet eyes zoned in on your interaction with the youngest man, as you interacted with anyone in the house.

They’d all welcomed you like family, with the exception of some awkward moments, but soon it just felt like a household of siblings, you being the baby and the girl. And moments like this did nothing but prove that dynamic.

But the adjustment wasn’t without its bumps. On both sides. Some bumps hidden, some more prominent.

Like balancing your own job while trying to navigate their chaotic schedules had left you stretched thin.

Still, moments like these made it worth it.

Felix’s pancakes, Jisung’s endless jokes, the way Hyunjin would teach you to paint on your off time like he was Bob Ross, the way Seungmin would tease you in his quiet, sharp-witted way, and Chris and Changbin treated you as if you were their sister- even the still tense moments you had with Minho it all felt like home in a way you hadn’t expected.

Even if you wish the moments with the latter would become eased. 

You overall enjoyed eveerything, from the busy mornings, to the late nights hearing the boys in their makeshift studio, even if it meant you got a few less hours of sleep. 

Overall it made you feel like you were getting your life back on track, to be fully on your feet in the next five months. 

But things had been going too well for too long, and that afternoon your world began to crumble before it could even truly begin to mend.

The conversation from your boss had been curt, impersonal:

"We’ve decided to move in a different direction. Effective by the end of today, your position has been terminated."

You rreplayed it over and over, hoping you’d misunderstood, but the words didn’t change.

The job you’d fought so hard to keep, the stability you’d clung to, was gone in an instant. 

Just like you had lost everything with your boyfriend in an instant, this was like a moment of Deja Vu. Yet somehow the feeling felt even worse than it had when your relationship of years went down the drain.

By the time you got back to the apartment, head filled with negative thoughts as you walked home from the bus stop in drizzling rain, tears were streaming down your face. You’d tried to hold it together, but the weight of it all was too much.

You stood at the doorstep of the front porch, letting it out, not wanting anyone to see you like this. You started to wipe your face, reaching for your key.

You didn’t even realize someone was there until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you saw Chan, his expression soft with concern.

“Hey, what happened?” he asked gently, crouching slightly to meet your eyes, and setting his umbrella on the porch.

You shook your head, trying to wipe your tears away. But he reached his arms out pulling you into them.

"Its okay. You'll be okay."

The dam broke then, and you poured out everything. How you lost your job today and how it was making you feel. How it made you worried and how you were regretting everything. How you’d been feeling overwhelmed, and now burdened; how you weren’t sure what to do next. Chan listened intently, his presence solid and unwavering as he rubbed your back.

When you finally finished, he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got you,” he said firmly. “Actually, I was going to bring this up soon anyway, but now’s as good a time as any. We could really use someone to help manage our schedules and handle some of the day-to-day stuff. If you’re interested, the job’s yours. No hesitation.”

You blinked at him, the offer catching you completely off guard. “I...”

“Don't even think about saying no. Matter of fact...you start tonight."

"Chris..."

"You’re already part of the family, Y/N-ah. This just makes it official,” he said with a grin, petting your head real quick. 

You began to cry again and he pulled you back into his arms until you heard a voice from behind.

"Hyung-ah..." You turned to see Minho and Jisung looking at Chan. They'd visibly just come back from shopping, green apples and your favorite protein powder that Changbin had used up sticking out from the bag Minho was holding. 

Chris smiled and went to go help with the bags and you looked at Minho, something unrecognizable flashing through his eyes. Jisung quickly ran up to you, asking about some anime you two were planning on binging later, drawing your attention away from him.

************************************************************************

Later that evening, after dinner, you found yourself sitting at the dining table, looking through a stack of potential venues for the next show the guys were planning. Chan had explained all that you needed to do for now and you were focused on doing your best to not disappoint.

The evening had settled into a calm silence after everyone ate and the boys had scattered around, some relaxing in the living room, others scrolling through their phones. It was easier to focus with the quiet; papers spread out in front of you.

The gig locations were a bit overwhelming, and despite your best efforts to focus, you felt a twinge of uncertainty. But you didn't feel uncertain enough to ask any questions just yet.

Minho approached you quietly, like a cat, his footsteps soft as he stood behind you. His gaze lingered on the papers for a moment, and then he pointed to one with a quick, no-nonsense motion.

He leaned over you and you tensed slightly.

“This one,” he said, his voice low. “It’s small. Good acoustics.”

You looked at the location he indicated, nodding slowly. It made sense now that you thought about it. More of an intimate environment, better for fan interaction. You wanted to ask if there was anything else to take into consideration, but before you could, Minho was already stepping away.

Without another word, he moved towards the kitchen. The sound of dishes clinking softly filled the space as he started cleaning up. It was a simple, quiet moment, but it felt...oddly intimate. You watching him do something so simple. You shook your head and turned back on your work, but your attention kept drifting towards him against your will.

Minho moved around the kitchen with ease, his broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he scrubbed plates. The way he concentrated, the quiet focus in his actions, made you momentarily forget everything else. He was chewing on a piece of gum as he worked to tidy up, and the movement caught you eye more than anything.

Focus Y/N. You lucked out with this you need to focus...

Then, a soft sound caught your attention, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him setting a plate in front of you. On it, a series of apple slices, carefully cut into small, delicate rabbit shapes.

The green apples shimmered under the dim light, their crisp freshness promising a much-needed break.

“You seemed anxious at dinner,” Minho said, his voice almost absent, as though he hadn’t meant to break the silence at all. He turned back toward the kitchen, not looking at you.

You stared at the apples for a moment, feeling the quiet stillness of the room pressing in on you. You picked up a slice, biting into it, the tang of the green apple sharp and sweet.

As you chewed, your eyes lingered on Minho. He was still in the kitchen, but now he was moving with a certain rhythm- something soothing in the way he worked, purpose with every movement. The clink of the dishes, the hum of his focused energy, filled the space between you. Now did it not only feel oddly intimate but oddly comforting.

But at the same time, you noticed the tension in his posture, the subtle furrow of his brow as he wiped down the counter. He seemed lost in thought. There was something in his expression, a flicker of discomfort that you couldn’t quite place.

In the silence, you found yourself wondering what was going on in his mind. What was he thinking?

Minho’s hands paused on the counter for a second, his gaze drifting out the window, his brow still furrowed. You couldn’t read him, but there was something unmistakable in the way he seemed conflicted.

His mind was racing, and he knew it. He couldn’t quite place the odd feeling swirling inside of him.

Part of him was glad you were here, sharing space with him and the others. You were friendly, easygoing, and yet, there was something about you that got under his skin and irked him.

Was he jealous that you were becoming so close to the guys?

Was that it?

Or maybe it was just the awkwardness that had lingered from the first time he’d met you? He wasn’t sure.

But then, something shifted. It was a thought so fleeting, so strange, that it stopped him in his tracks.

When he had seen the apples at the store, he’d thought of you.

And for some reason, that thought unsettled him more than anything else.

“Maybe I’m just being a dick,” he muttered to himself, the words slipping out quietly. He was still scrubbing the countertop, but his mind was somewhere else, tangled in a mess of feelings he couldn’t untangle.

He was distant around you, so much so you seemed to be a little wary around him. But he was only distant because of this odd feeling. He had never been around girls all that much. Moving in with the guys at a rather early age. And he had much rather be in solitude than interact with others.

“Maybe I'm just not used to being around girls,” he thought, but it didn’t sit right. He knew that wasn’t entirely true. It couldn’t that simple.

And then the feeling hit him again- the odd tension, the confusion.

He wanted you around, he realized. He liked having you in the house, even though it irked him.

Maybe it was just the mess of new dynamics.

Maybe it was jealousy because it seemed to spike whenever you were hanging out with one of the guys. They had been his friends first.

So that was the most plausible solution, wasn't it?

Or maybe it was something else. He just couldn’t pinpoint it.

All he knew was there was something about you. Something that made him think about you when he sliced saw green apples, of all things.

Something that made him want to cut those apples into little rabbits, because he had seen you barely touch your plate.

Minho took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. There was no denying that whatever it was, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Not now, not with the way you were sitting there, quietly eating the apples he’d prepared for you, as you scribbled something down, quietly bouncing one of your legs.

Is she always that anxious?

He let out a quiet exhale and turned back to the sink.

“I’m definitely overthinking this,” he muttered under his breath.

But...he wasn't exactly opposed to the thought of you being in his head.

♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡🏠︎♂♂♂♂♀♂♂♂♂🏠︎♡

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[j2h5b5]

When Derek walked in to find Stiles handcuffed to a kitchen chair, he stopped in his tracks and just stared for a few moments. Stiles stared back, his expression defeated, his eyes showing the kind of exhaustion that's unique to someone who has spent a whole day chasing after two hyperactive six-year-old werewolf boys the night before a full moon. Derek felt a growl rising in his throat and fought it down. "Where are they?" he asked instead, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Stiles sighed. "I would wager they're holed up in the playroom Mario-Karting their asses off since I grounded them from it for the day." He pointedly jingled the bracelet encircling his wrist, which was attached to one of the slats along the backrest of the chair. "Can you...?"

Derek scanned the kitchen and saw the key resting on the counter next to the microwave. He made quick work of unlocking his husband, who immediately began massaging his wrist as Derek leaned in to plant a somewhat distracted kiss on his lips. "Don't worry, I'll handle this," he said.

"Derek."

This had been a point of contention for them in recent weeks, as their adopted sons' behavior had escalated from minor mischief to potentially dangerous hijinks. It was a good sign, Stiles insisted, an indication that after almost seven months of being in their care, the boys were feeling comfortable enough to misbehave. Derek wholeheartedly disagreed, believing that laying down the law was not only important but necessary, lest they end up with uncontrollable twin monsters.

And that was easy enough for him, as the boys had a natural healthy respect for the Alpha, viewing him with undisguised awe and obeying his instructions at least seven times out of ten. (And the other three times, they regretted it but quick.) For Stiles, the average was one in ten, and usually the obedience was coincidental, not intentional. It was depressing him, and, more, it was putting undue stress on their relationship.

"I was handling it!" Stiles had protested one day two weeks ago, when Derek had walked in to see both boys jumping gleefully on their beautiful black leather sectional, blond curls bouncing chaotically as Stiles repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) grabbed for flailing appendages he could use to pull them back to solid ground.

"It didn't look good from where I was standing!" Derek protested. "You're way too easy on them, Stiles."

And true, all it took was one Alpha growl from Derek to snap them to attention, a command to "Get down NOW" and five minutes facing the wall in separate corners before they were sniffling and full of contrition and apologies. Stiles didn't want to be jealous of his husband's far superior child-wrangling abilities, but he was. And it was becoming quite a sore subject.

So now, at Stiles's one-word objection, Derek took a deep breath and a step back, gesturing for Stiles to lead the way to the playroom. He could just be backup, he figured, maybe flashing Alpha eyes at the adorable brats from behind Stiles’s shoulder. But Stiles stopped him from following by placing a hand on his chest. "They'll never take me seriously if you're always bad cop," he said.

It was important. To Stiles, to the boys. To their family. Derek raised his hands in surrender. "I'm here if you need me," he said, and Stiles leaned in for a real kiss before Derek headed back to the living room to perch on the couch and listen from afar.

And what he heard was truly impressive. Stiles was stern. He was authoritative. He confiscated the contraband video game. He doled out early bedtimes as a consequence. He explained in no uncertain terms why their behavior was unacceptable and what would happen if they didn't start following the rules. He didn't even raise his voice. The three of them emerged ten minutes later, one twin in Stiles's arms and the other clinging to his shirttail, both of them looking sufficiently chastised.

Derek raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who was clearly trying to suppress a smirk. "We're all good now," he reassured, knowing full well that Derek had listened to most of the exchange. "But Oliver has a question for you."

The twin at Stiles's side looked at Derek with wide blue eyes and said, "Why do you have handcuffs in the drawer next to your bed?"